The Book of Nemesis
by Anonymous Void
Summary: Sequel to Malicious Motives. It was supposed to be a simple high school reunion but who would have thought a simple misunderstanding would jumpstart the final battle of good and evil? Regardless of who started it, Kyle knows that he'll have to be the one who ends it.
1. Going Back to South Park

Author's Note: And I'm back. Here's the sequal to _Malicious Motives_. Probably wondering what I'm going to do and where I'm going to go with this. I mean, the characters were practically graduating high school in the last one. Well, read on to find out. I am accepting OCs for the first few chapters so get them in as soon as possible. For those that had their OC in the last one, now is also your chance to resubmit. Same as before, fill out the form at the end of this chapter, please try to stick to what I'm asking for. I'm really looking forward to this one, got a lot of ideas for it, already know where I want to go but how it will all end, I can't say. With the other stories, I knew what I wanted to do for an ending. This one I'm not so sure. Guess we'll all find out in due time.

As of now, the only returning OCs are Charlotte "Charlie" White, Kyra McCloud, Bonnie Snyder, and Wolf Black. If you have an OC who was in Malicious Motives, this is practically your last chance to resubmit. Once submissions are closed, it will reflect in the summary. With all that serious stuff out of the way, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Coming Back to South Park

_In a time when the economy was healthy and everything is a somewhat better place…_

In the digital age, it was easier to get into contact with just about anybody, including people that you hadn't seen in years. It was a wondrous thing, the internet, that spontaneous deity that every once in a while broke off all signals and sent the planet into a mess of confusion and boredom.

But that wasn't what was being used today. As great as the internet was in all its glory, a much more basic form of communication was being used. The long black-haired, young woman who happened to be using this archaic form of speaking with other people happened to be a newly minted lawyer who had recently passed her bar exam.

In all the heady feelings that had come to her afterwards, Wendy Testaburger had noticed that nearly ten years had passed since the days where she was one of the highest scoring students in her high school. Ten years, wow. Time sure flew by when you were competing against the eat-or-be-eaten crowds in law school…

Of course, you know what this meant now. Due to receiving that all-important law license, Wendy, like anybody in her home town, felt the need to rub it in other people's faces. And since ten years had passed since she had last graced the halls of South Park High…

It was time for her ten year high school reunion.

And that brings us to the reason why she was using a phone of all things.

"Don't you think it would be great to get back together with everybody else, see what we've all been up to since we graduated?" Wendy asked into her eleventh generation iPhone, blue eyes seemingly staring into nothing though were actually glowing in reminiscence, fiddling with the old pink beret she used to wear when she was young. "Why do you think we need to wait three more years? Get back together for the thirteenth anniversary? Excuse me for saying this but what kind of an idiot schedules a high school reunion for the thirteenth anniversary? That sounds like something from an _American Pie_ sequel. What do you mean it's not like an _American Pie_ sequel?

"Just slow down, okay? I was just thinking that it's been some time since we last saw our classmates and wouldn't it be great to get back together with them? You know, to see how far we've all come?" And to show off that she had earned not only her law degree but her license! "No I'm not curious about what's become of my old boyfriend! I'm over Stan! Really! He's probably still hooked up with that Kyra girl. Anyway this is not about me! …much. This is about reestablishing the old ties we had back in those magical years of high school! Yeah, yeah, I know they weren't _that_ magical for you but there literally was some magic happening back then…

"Uh huh. Uh huh. It can't be _that_ hard! We're just organizing a get together between our old friends! We'll see if we can get it around a time when as many people as possible can come…as well as those we don't like won't be able to show up. Yeah, you know who I'm thinking about. We don't need any assholes showing up and showing off how well they're doing in front of everybody. That's just…in poor tastes.

"Hold on a sec, my phone's telling me someone just tweeted me. I have to check it out."

Pulling the eleventh generation iPhone from her ear while setting her childhood beret aside, moving a few locks of her dark hair as well, she put the person she was speaking to on hold while she checked up on her latest tweet. Clicking on a few icons, she brought the message up and…

…damn it, how did Eric Cartman keep finding her Twitter account? She swore, she was going to have to change over to Chirper, the other social media site that was practically identical to Twitter except that you could only use a picture of yourself for you visual identification and it had to be taken with a wide-angle lens while you were wearing a funny hat. Something like that.

"Sorry about that," Wendy said as she resumed her phone call, an irritated expression on her face that melted away as she picked her beret back up. "One of those assholes we were talking about Twittered me. Take a guess who it is. No, it wasn't…forget about it, we have more important things to work out, like where we should hold the reunion. Let's try to skip the Airport Hilton. After what happened there last time…yeah…

"Of course I'm still on speaking terms with Bebe! Whatever gave you the idea that we were…let me guess, someone Tweeted you and it came from some random Twitter account that more than likely belongs to a certain fatass bigot. Of course he wouldn't use anything _too_ obvious for his handle! He'd probably use a name that made him look better than he really is. Anyway, if you're so worried, I'll call up Bebe and see what she's up to. Is that okay? Okay.

"Don't be worried! It's just a high school reunion! I mean, what's the worst that can happen?"

* * *

The last job Kyle Broflovski ever thought he'd ever have would be involved with politics of all things. Well, surprise, surprise, politics was where he was working. Aide to the mayor of South Park of all places. Didn't seem a very lofty title but if you knew who the mayor was…

And before you ask, no, it wasn't McDaniels he was working under. She had had the fortune to finally get out of the Godforsaken town, i.e. had been elected to be a representative of their legislative district, and when that had happened, a certain someone decided to take advantage of it.

Once again, before you ask, Eric Cartman was not the mayor though he tried. Not even that sociopath could compete against a person who had millennia's worth of political knowledge and strategies at his fingertips. Kyle had only gotten involved in the first place because he had made a promise that if this person did run, he'd help him out.

Kyle hadn't expected him to win though. Mayor Achristos (he swore it was Latin), it had that…ah forget it. Kyle didn't know what word qualified to describe it and that was saying something since he had quite the extensive vocabulary. Yes, by the way, he had also asked why not just use Thorne instead?

The new mayor had replied that that was too obvious, lazy, and anyone who used it because of some fictional character from a movie instead of coming up with something original was…eh, unoriginal. Having a name that translated into "not Christ" was so much better, Kyle supposed, but that was Damien for you.

FYI, Damien hated that movie, _The Omen_. Maybe that had something to do with it.

Since Damien had won and Kyle had been so involved with the campaign, it seemed natural that he would become a part of the new administration. To be honest, he hadn't wanted to. The redhead had wanted to continue his studies, decide between medical school or law or something else that paid well, and go do that. Somehow Damien had suckered him into becoming an aide instead.

Before you ask how, Kyle was going to plead the fifth on that one. If anything, that was something that was none of your freaking business.

So here he was, walking into the lobby of City Hall which was currently going under some renovations. The scaffolding along the walls and the group of workmen taking a break made him frown at the sight but he said nothing about it. It was plain to see that the men were going to milk this project for however long they could. Personally, Kyle could have preferred working someplace else but Damien had been vehement that he continue working in the Mayor's Office.

Stubborn little…

Passing by a tall statue of the late Officer Barbrady dressed up in a Batman costume and taking a flight of stairs up the second floor, the young Jewish man headed for Damien's office, fully expecting that the Antichrist was in there hard at work. You could never really tell what would be going on in there and to be honest, Kyle didn't want to waste the time on what could be happening.

Straightening himself as he reached the door, he carefully touched the doorknob to make sure it wasn't super-hot again and when he felt cold metal, gripped it and turned it. Ah, everything looked normal in here, the American flag was not on fire again, and Mayor Damien was at his desk going over some documents.

That makes the total number of walking into normal happenings up to 48 but the weird ones were still in the lead at 63.

"Shut the door," Damien ordered without looking up, his deep, suave voice stressed.

Rolling his green eyes, Kyle obeyed though he didn't lock it behind him. Another personal thing, he liked his only exit to be opened in case shit went down and he needed a quick escape.

Turning away from the door, Kyle jumped and stumbled back as he found Damien barely a foot away, somehow getting from his desk and over here in…oh hell, why not just say he used his satanic powers again? It was much easier to point that out instead of saying he just appeared right behind him.

"Will you stop doing that?!" Kyle demanded as he clutched at his chest. "You're going to give a heart attack at this rate!"

Before he knew it, he was being pulled into a tight embrace, his hand trapped between their bodies as Damien pressed his face into Kyle's shoulder, his black hair brushing against the Jew's pale white skin.

"It's so boring!" Damien's deepened voice whined into his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me governing was a boring job?"

"Blame your father for the slow and painful way to bring about the apocalypse," Kyle snorted as he squirmed in Damien's hold. "And let go of me! You don't want any of your straight, Jesus-loving constituents catching you in a compromising situation like this! You do want to be President, right?"

"Not if it's this boring!" Damien whined. Then lifting his head up as an idea occurred to him, Kyle found dark brown eyes peering into his own and were those flashes of red? "I know something much more interesting that we can—"

"No," Kyle interrupted.

"Don't be a Debby Downer, Kyle," Damien suavely purred at him and the Jew squeaked as he felt a hand grope an asscheek. "It's like the cliché; I'm your boss and you're my secretary…"

"We did that on your first day and it was only a one time thing!" Kyle exclaimed as he began struggling against Damien's demonically enhanced strength. "And I'm not a secretary! I'm an aide!"

"Whatever makes you sleep at night," Damien teased.

"It's daylight and I'm not an exhibitionist!" Kyle stated as he managed to wriggle out of Damien's hold, beginning to straighten his tie that have been messed up due to his struggling. "And by the way, that is not appropriate in the work place! We shouldn't even be…!"

"Now you're being a Negative Nancy," Damien admonished, his deepened voice rising just a little. "Come. Take a seat and relax, my little aide."

"Only if you're going to be doing some damn work!" Kyle retorted.

"But it's all about referendums and amendments and bills," Damien moaned as he trudged back to his seat, his posture the same as a prisoner being dragged off to receive a lethal injection. "And it's so lame! I'm just approving things that are going to be put to a vote by the village idiots."

"Those village idiots are not only your constituents, they take their voting seriously," Kyle said. "I know one family that votes to decide if they want to have a vote. They're very dedicated to their constitutional rights, you know."

"I am so glad that this will all be over when I cause World War III," Damien muttered.

"That's another thing you shouldn't say out loud," Kyle added.

"Ooh, my words are going to be misconstrued if I say them out loud," Damien gasped mockingly.

"How can you misconstrue what you just said?" Kyle frowned before giving up. "Whatever, what are you working on now?"

"The retailer store Scope wants to build just outside of town but wants us to foot the water instead of the local aquifer," Damien intoned dully. "Also wants us to pay for installing the underground pipes."

"Or they're not going to build, huh?" Kyle concluded. "What do you want to do?"

"Tell them to go fuck themselves—you know what, why should I be fucking doing this?" Damien complained, glaring down at the top of his desk. Then rubbing at his eyes, "And why do I have to wear these Hell-forsaken contact lens!"

Pulling one out, the shorter Jew got a glimpse of a naturally red-colored eye before it was shut as the other lens was being hastily taken out.

"Red eyes freak out other people unless you're an albino," Kyle stated dully. "They'd think you were some kind of devil."

"I am a devil!" Damien growled, voice cracking slightly for a second.

"Hey, it's your job to fulfill whatever prophesy has been laid out for you," Kyle said. "No one ever said bringing the end of the world was going to be fun. It's not like one day you're going to break open the earth and unleash Hell onto the world. Or summon up some kind of demonic army. Or have some final battle with the coming of the Messiah that'll decide the fate of the world."

"It would have been neat," Damien pouted as he crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

"Your father agrees with the biblical scholars," Kyle shrugged. "It's the charismatic person who rises to a position of power that's going to do it."

"Fucking scholars; like they know what the Book of Revelations is about," Damien grumbled. Pausing a second, he added, "Don't you mean the second coming of the Messiah?"

"Jewish; don't believe Jesus was the Messiah," Kyle explained.

"Lucky," Damien commented.

"Whatever, so what are you going to do about Scope?" Kyle asked, trying to get back to business. "A new retail store in this area would provide some more jobs to the locals…"

"I thought you liked supporting Main Street," Damien teased.

"Well…well times have changed!" Kyle defended.

"Shush," Damien shushed him, a sharp fang peeking out on one side of his mouth. "I won't tell anyone about your about-face if you won't…"

"Stop trying to change the subject," Kyle demanded. "I swear, you're like a child!"

"A two hundred year childhood would do that to you," Damien admitted.

"There you go again—really, two hundred years?" Kyle stopped what he was saying as something the other said caught his attention. "Michael Jackson would be jealous."

Damien smirk but as he began to open his mouth to say something…

"You're going off track again!" Kyle snapped, glaring at him. Dear Moses, it was like he was working with a little kid! "Approve the damn thing, veto it, or set it to the damn side, just make a decision already!"

"Alright, fine, I'll put it to a side," Damien rolled his eyes before letting out a cough. "Damn it!" he swore, his voice suddenly rising an octave. "Using Christian Bale's Batman voice is killer on my throat!"

Kyle didn't have the heart to tell him that his "Batman" voice made him sound like a normal, everyday person and not a certain crime-fighting vigilante. "At least you managed to last, what, ten minutes this time? If you can last thirty minutes, you'll be good for whatever speeches you may have to make in the future."

"Fucking job," Damien cursed in his real voice which was naturally high pitched. "Why couldn't I be genetically blessed with a deep voice like my father?"

"You are who you are," Kyle shrugged. "So what's next on the agenda?"

"Another protest permit," Damien answered dully, signing off on it immediately. "Death certificate, death certificate, permit for a new gas station…" Each one he signed off on, pausing on the last one for a second before signing off on it.

Watching the changing pace, Kyle shook his head and sighed. Was this guy really up to fulfilling this purpose, this destiny of his?

Was he?

* * *

South Park had certainly changed over the few years yet at the same time it had barely changed. Things were different but at the same time you wouldn't be able to tell with your first look. A person like Gary Harrison, who had lived here for quite a few years, would be able to tell you what had changed and what hadn't changed over the past ten years since his high school graduation.

A handful of his old classmates had managed to leave this town but like with most towns, a lot had failed in that endeavor. Either they left but couldn't make it and had to come back or they never left in the first place. Thanks to that nearby community college, not everyone who stayed in town were deprived of higher education. In fact, Gary was a graduate of said community college. Degree in education and everything. Had a job as the physical education instructor for the high school and taught American history on the side like most gym coaches did. Naturally, when it came a certain period in time, he always made an effort to inform his students about the founding of the Church of Latter Day Saints and even got to invite a few over for dinner.

And he was very content with that. He wasn't a hard person to please in any way and while this wasn't some very lucrative financial position he was in, it didn't take much for him to find some kind of comfort in this life. After graduation, he had taken two years off for his church-ordained missionary position and had traveled into the middle of Africa. There he had met up with a couple of other missionaries who were trying to make a difference in that poverty-stricken land while engaging against an antagonistic warlord.

The Book of Arnold was a very intriguing addition to the Book of Mormon as he knew it. Every month or so he found himself rereading that portion of the Book and pondering how Elder Arnold Cunningham had come to be so enlightened.

Enough with his metaphysical musings, he told himself as he scratched the back of his blond-haired head, the cool mountain enveloping him as he strolled down the sidewalks of the town on his daily walk. After he had come back from Africa, he was two years out of his academic career and had enrolled in that community college as soon as he had heard about it. Two years later he had a degree and was being hired by the South Park Independent School District.

Kyra McCloud, his best friend in the whole world, had had different fortunes than him. She had been one of those that had left the town but had ultimately come back after a few years. When she had left to go off to college, miraculously going to the University of Colorado in Denver along with her then boyfriend Stan Marsh, she had been completely excited and Gary had nothing but the best hopes for her. Four years later, she came back into town and had gotten work as a store clerk at a video game store.

There had also been a noticeable lack of Stan and that was a subject she had really been mum about. The best that Gary could get out of her was that their interests had split or something to that effect. That and he heard that Stan had last been heading towards New York City. A year after that and the slow economy they had been going through abruptly did a one-eighty. Perhaps they had had some disagreement? A fight maybe?

Well, currently, Kyra was now the manager of the very store she had once clerked in. Only recently she had started getting letters from Nintendo of all places with offers for positions in their game development branches. At the moment, Kyra was undecided though Gary could tell that she was leaning more towards taking the offer. Beneath it all, Kyra was a hardcore gamer and what gamer would turn down the opportunity to make the next generation of video games?

All he had told her was that she should follow what felt right and do what she wanted to do. He'd be okay back here in South Park and she knew where he lived. She was always welcomed to drop by.

Stopping at the local Harbucks and getting his regular latte, a certain plumber around here declaring it "gay," Gary resumed his walk, this time warmed up with a cup of hot, milky java. Now let's see, where was he? Ah yes…

The local mechanic had retired recently but fortunately his position had been taken up by Kenny McCormick. Gary didn't know how but somehow, Kenny just seemed to _fit_ there. He was usually dirty, overcharged unless you were a regular, and he always had a perverse comment for the opposite sex. Usually it was an invite to come back to his place and the rest was censored because Gary didn't think that kind of language was appropriate.

As you could tell, Gary didn't spend a lot of time at the mechanic's.

Up ahead he noticed City Hall and he took a sip of his latte to hide the curving of his lips. Yep, they had a new mayor and yes, Gary had voted for him. The alternative choice hadn't been…stellar. Yes, stellar would have to be the word used there. It hadn't taken Gary long to figure out that when it came to politics and elections, the choices you had was usually between two devils and you had to decide which was the lesser of the two. Or to put it in a simpler way, it was between a giant douche and a turd sandwich. Gary had voted for the giant douche.

At least with the giant douche, Kyle Broflovski was there to keep him in line. Hopefully.

He paused in his step, frowning slightly at the pure white feather that fluttered before him. He watched it as the slight wind played with it for a moment before whisking it away. He had been seeing feathers just show up out of nowhere for a while and usually randomly. Ever since senior year…

Eh, probably didn't mean anything and was just some mild distraction. Onward then!

Gary paused again in his step as something else caught his eye. Watching a nearby alley closely, he saw someone emerge from what seemed to be a nondescript door holding a package that was wrapped in brown wrapping paper and looking pleased with themselves. The person was also muttering to themselves, talking about how great a deal they had just got.

Ah, now he saw. Another satisfied customer of the Black Market. Gary had never had reason to go there himself despite all the deals he heard you could get there. Something about it…well, it just made him want to physically move away from it. Where this sense of discomfort came from, Gary did not know but he was inclined to agree with it and continue on his way.

And so off he was. His direction took him passed City Hall where oddly enough, the same discomfort he felt from the Black Market popped up again. He sped up his step, shaking it off. He had better things to do than get off feelings about things in town. So what was he thinking about before? Oh yeah, Kyle.

The member of the other religious minority in this town had a good head on his shoulders, never lost that trait. Every once in a while, he'd get a call from him, usually to talk…or was it shoot…the breeze and maybe there was some complaining on Kyle's end but Gary was always receptive. Nothing made him feel good than helping other people through their problems. Most of Kyle's problems stemmed from a certain Mayor and resident obese Anti-Semitic and Gary listened to each complaint with patience and care.

With the complaints about the mayor, the Mormon always sensed there was some kind of fondness in Kyle's words though the Jewish man would deny it with his dying breath. Sometimes, Gary had the sense that Kyle didn't know if he was coming or going. Don't ask him why he thought that, he just did.

Outside of Kyra, Kyle, every once in a while Kenny, Gary didn't really have much to do with the people who had been his peers back in school. There were still a few others in town, like he saw Craig Tucker a few times and once Token Black but that had been during the holidays. Gary supposed that he sort of lost touch with the rest of them. But that was okay, they were all finding their places in this world. Perhaps they'd meet up at a high school reunion or something.

There had been some changes here and there, new people moving in, some of them coming along with those who had tried to leave but had to come back. Others came by themselves to try and either escape the fast pace of the city or they wanted to start somewhere new and South Park just happened to be the place they chose.

Not that these new folk always stayed. While the world around them changed, the one thing that hadn't changed about this town was the unusual events and incidents that occurred. Alien invasions, celebrity invasions, once a foreign invasion by some Neo Nazis who he had managed to invite over to dinner and convert (he buffed his fingernails against his jacket and blew on them at this point), and there was even a viral invasion, whatever that was. It was same old, same old here.

The only thing they hadn't been invaded by in the past ten years was Hell!

Without warning, a harsh sneeze escaped him. Eyes squinted closed for a second, he cracked them open and saw another pure white feather fluttering in front of him. Huh, wonder where that one had come from?

Just another odd occurrence, nothing to worry about.

But just in case he was coming down with something, he better get back home. No sense taking any chances with his health. No need to be unwell come Monday when he needed to go back to work.

* * *

Author's Note: A bit of a change in the OC submission form. For once, the category "Crush" does mean pairing. Potentially. Because this story is ten years removed from _Malicious Motives_, not every OC is going to be a South Park native. Also, the Successful Job and Unsuccessful Job parts, that what job your OC would have if they were a success in life or not a success. The Heaven and Hell sections, be sure to give a reason why they would choose either side. I've hinted at what's to come in this chapter so these parts are important in the long run. That's pretty much it.

OC Submission

Name:

Gender:

Appearance:

Clothing:

Personality:

Likes:

Dislikes:

Friends:

Enemies:

Crush:

Basic History:

Successful Job/Occupation:

Unsuccessful Job/Occupation:

Which side would they choose and why?

Heaven:

Hell:

What they would sell their soul for:

Place of Origin not South Park:


	2. The Locals Who Never Left

Author's Note: I'd say sorry for how long it took to write up this second chapter but life has gotten in the way. Got a bunch of other stuff to do, classwork, readings, etc., so that's taking up more time than usual. But for those that do know me, you know I won't leave you hanging forever. I do finish the stories I post no matter how long it takes. Just slowly getting into the groove of things, setting things up, introducing the characters, blah blah blah. I'd like to say it's mostly canon characters in this chapter but I think it's an even number between canon and OCs. Maybe. Sorta. Anyway, if you're OC has not shown up yet, don't worry. I take my time with introducing the characters and who knows how many chapters this is going to be. Plenty of time for introductions, maybe, but in the meantime, enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

The Locals Who Never Left

Charlie White had been dreading this day for quite some time. It was a day that practically every woman feared while a handful would remain in deep, deep denial for years to come.

It was the day when a woman finally realized that she wasn't as young as she thought she was. It had smacked her in the face once she realized that it had been ten long years since high school graduation. Unlike many, though, she got over this fact pretty quickly. She had never been that feminine before and hadn't really cared much about herself before.

What was this to her other than a five second pause of shock? Others would go into meltdown, others, again, into deep denial but there was always a few who got over it in record time.

It was a bit of a shame that twenty-eight wasn't the new eighteen or anything…

And this would be the point where if Bain knew what she was thinking, he'd lay it into her. Fortunately he didn't so this would stay a secret for as long as she could hold it.

Now, what could have caused such a reaction with her you might be asking yourself. This was Charlie White, the one girl in school who cared less about what other people thought of her, literally knew how to kick ass, and dated a homicidal sociopath. Was still dating said homicidal sociopath by the way.

Well, what caused her to freeze up for five second and wonder where all the time had gone could be tied directly to an e-mail she had received not long ago. How someone from her old class managed to find her…scratch that, fucking Facebook, that's how. Anyway, she had in her inbox an invitation to go to the ten year high school reunion and that's how she knew that ten years had passed by before she had known it.

What had she been doing in that time? Other than practically raising her sisters after an accident had claimed her mother's life, Charlie was taking a gamble and attempting to follow in the footsteps of her mother and be an author. Wasn't going too well as she had an enormous case of reoccurring writer's block and easily fell into bouts of laziness from which it was hard to pull herself out of. The only reason why she was still afloat financially was because her mother had been quite a good writer and had squirreled away much of her money so there was a hefty sum left for her surviving daughters.

It had been ten years and now, only now, she had gotten a reply from a publisher that was interested in signing her up. So things were starting to look up for her. Of course, Stella had taken off as soon as she could and Tammy was just entering her senior year of high school herself. Yeah, time had really slipped away from her, hadn't it?

The only other person in her life was none other than her sociopathic boyfriend Bain Cynis…who no longer lived in the state of Colorado. He was located in good ol' Stanford, California, home to Stanford University but what he was doing Charlie could not say. He only showed up around the holidays in which Charlie would find herself bordering between happiness and hell. Even after all these years he still knew what buttons to press.

And speaking of Hell, that was another reason why she hadn't left South Park. After essentially babysitting the Antichrist himself and successfully lasting a year, Satan, Prince of Darkness and all that jazz, had kept up his end of their bargain. She had nice place to look forward to after she died but in the meantime she had to keep an eye on Damien and make sure he didn't get in over his head. Close to the actual words used but not quite. It was too humiliating to repeat Satan's actual words which was something when you were also feeling humiliated and you weren't the person being humiliated.

So Daddy's little unholy princess went off to become mayor of the town, big whoop, and Charlie was still in a quasi-babysitting situation. Again. Fuck. Last time she made any deals with fallen angels, let her tell you that. Just when you think you're getting a good deal, they always manage to sucker more out of you.

Well, anyway, back to what was the real issue here. High school reunion. Invite was in her inbox. What should she do about it? Call Bain? No, he'd demand what possessed her to call him about stupid shit. Go to it? Nah, she didn't really like social events despite the large number she inadvertently attended. Stay home and try to finish up that novel she was trying to write? Too lazy right now.

So what was she supposed to do now, hmm?

What would be the purpose of going other than just going to go? Show off what kind of a "success" she was? Nah, that sounded more like some kind of ego trip she had no intention of taking. She didn't do such things not because she was some kind of nice person who didn't rub things into your face; she just didn't do things because she didn't care.

And also she was the type to rub things into your face. Just ask Bain. She did it all the time to him. Of course, if Tammy ever caught her doing it, she'd interrupt and vehemently defend that crazy asshole. There were times when she thought that her little sister had never really gotten over that crush she had on that maniac, something that occurred back when they were in high school.

And she was getting off topic again. Maybe it was because this was just something she didn't care for in the first place. After double checking just who it was that sent the invitation, it took a bit to figure out that the person who sent it to her was none other than Wendy Testaburger.

What was Wendy trying to do? Gather up half the world's population of assholes and bring them under one roof? Because contrary to what most people thought, half the guys that Charlie graduated with were assholes. Some just hid it better than others.

At this point, the only thing that she did know was that Bain wasn't attending. Something about a research project he was working on. Knowing him, it could be something that was legitimate or it was part of his extra-curricular activities.

By extra-curricular activity, she meant his career as a fucking serial killer. Bastard was going to get himself caught one of these days, especially if anybody began believing Marcus Cole's "theory" of the so-called Copycat Killer. Charlie knew that it was definitely no theory and all too real. After all, Bain was the Copycat Killer.

She was getting off track again. Should she accept or not?

Eh, she'd think about it. Later. Maybe.

* * *

The pencil was held trapped between the hem of a pair of pants and the bulbous _gluteus maximus_ which the cloth strained against. The person of whom this _gluteus maximus_ belonged to was on his knees, his head sticking into a cabinet that was placed just under a kitchen sink and just so happened to have a set of pipes kept within it. Beside this very large person, a tool box rested on the floor, open and revealing a wrench that had definitely seen a lot of use. Underneath that wrench was a roll of duct tape for those jobs that couldn't be fixed in a timely manner.

Pulling his head out from the cabinet, revealing that he had a double chin, the plumber reached into the tool box and snatched up the roll of duct tape, leaning back towards the cabinet with the roll. Tearing off a long piece, he got to work and with that quick fix had completed his latest job.

And it was about time too! He'd been here for five minutes and that by itself was too long!

"I'm done!" he hollered out, seeking some kind of recognition for his efforts. The uncaring silence that answered him was his reward.

Growling, the plumber yelled out, "Ey! I said I was done!" Sheesh! What was taking this dickhole so long?

From an open doorway, the owner of the house shuffled in, age slowing her body down. "Did you say something?" she asked, her eyes narrowed into slits in an attempt to see better though it was a failed endeavor.

"I fixed the sink," the plumber announced, gesturing to said kitchen fixture. Pulling out a pad and reaching back to grab the pencil that was held against his ass, the plumber pulled the writing utensil out and sniffed it. Grimacing a bit, he nevertheless held it properly and began using it for its proper function. "Now that was a standard job and after adding in labor and a few other things, your total comes out to be…three hundred dollars."

"Oh dearie, that sounds steep," the elderly owner of the house commented.

"Times have changed ma'am," the plumber replied, sounding more respectful than he had earlier.

"Do you take a check?" the woman asked as she began shuffling back towards the living room.

"Certainly," the plumber answered sweetly. "Just make it out to cash and Eric Cartman, working manager of Cartman Quick Fix, Inc., will take care of the rest…"

Ten minutes later, the plumber known as Eric Cartman was getting back into his piece of shit pickup, practically tossing his toolbox carelessly into the passenger seat and onto an abuse envelope as he sat in the driver's seat. Looking over the check he had received, he stuffed it into a pocket and turned the ignition, starting the engine so he could head out for his next job.

This was freaking the pits. What had happened? How did someone as gifted and talented as him end up in some dead in job like plumbing? Hell, "Cartman Quick Fix, Inc." didn't even exist! It was just there to make him sound professional as well as make others think he was a businessman. He was a self-employed, twenty-eight year old who was barely scraping by on his meager earnings.

Yes, he overcharged that woman back there but she was such a dumbass that she was begging to get swindled. In fact, he would have already done so if he had some kind of plan he could follow. Didn't have one of those yet so he was stuck with ripping her off as well as waiting for her next call to come, saying that her sink was broken.

Whose fault was it that he was in this situation? Well, isn't it obvious? It was those greedy, Godless Jews who were responsible for this, in particular that Jewrat Kyle! If those money-grubbing Jews weren't hoarding all the money for themselves, there'd be plenty for everyone but no they had to keep it all for themselves and force hardworking folks like himself to eke out a living.

He even had proof that there was a big Jew conspiracy! That new mayor they had had a Jew working for him and guess what, he won! Meanwhile there was little underdog him without a Jew and he lost! Cartman always knew Kyle and the rest of his Jew kind had it out for him. If only people would believe him and realize that the greatest threat to this great nation of theirs was that of the Jewish kind, dwarfed only by the underhanded Chinese takeover that was brewing.

Jews and Chinks, both were plotting to steal all of America's money and destroy it with a massive debt. What was it going to take for people to understand this?

Whatever, he had to go unclog a toilet over on…what was the name of that street again? He was always over there, always at the same house where the same person would ask for him by name for all her plumbing needs. A young woman too, one who went by the name Melanie Wishcast. It seemed like he was always going over there between the times of four and five it seemed…

Whatever, it was another wad of cash in his hand to further his extravagant lifestyle and you didn't believe that one for a moment, did you? Fuck! He was losing his touch! Once he could have sold a movie studio an idea for a bad Adam Sadler movie and make who knows how much money. Yet here he was, a fucking plumber of all things and barely eking a living on less than fucking minimum wage despite the fact that he wasn't even receiving a minimum wage from anyone.

For some reason, though, he had this feeling that he should be somewhere else, involved with some kind of business or something or the sort that involved time travel…

Yeah right, time travel. What did he look like, some kind of moron? He hadn't believed that one when that asshole had come out of nowhere and told him that if he changed his ways, he was going to be the owner of his own time travel company? Only an idiot would have fallen for that.

Perhaps, though, what was the worst part of his life was the fact that he was going through all the suffering and he didn't have anyone else beside him to share in it. Fucking Brianna Vargas. Just when he finally starts managing the turn the tables and become the person who wore the pants in their relationship, she up and leaves and he hasn't heard from her since. And after all he had been through with her!

At least if she was still around, he could have bitched—er, he meant complained to her about how his life wasn't turning out the way he wanted it to and it was all Kyle's fault. It was always Kyle's fault. Even if it wasn't obvious, that greedy Jewrat was responsible for something!

A car horn blared at him, jerking him out of his seething thoughts just as he ran past a stop sign. Luckily it was a four-way stop and the person who honked at him had barely started to pull out. Of course, that's not how Cartman saw it.

Sticking a hand out of the driver side window, he raised his middle finger and called out, "Watch where you're driving asshole!"

Yeah, that'd show'em.

Show'em what exactly? That Eric Cartman was not going to be pushed around forever. He would rise up and conquer whatever obstacles that Kyle and his fellow Jew race put in front of him and he would show them all just how awesome he truly was.

The invitation to the ten year high school reunion which rested on the passenger seat and right under his tool box gave him all the motivation to want to one up all the naysayers. Finding that in his mailbox had been surprising and a little upsetting after some reflection was done. He wasn't anywhere near where he wanted to be in life and the last thing he wanted was for anyone important to know how crappy his life was.

But didn't everybody lie at these things? As long as you put forth an image of success, people would believe you because they had no reason not to. He may not be the success he deserved to be right now but if he made everyone believe that he was, then that success would have to become true because it was a self-fulfilling prophesy or some shit like that.

But first he had a toilet or possibly a shower drain to unclog.

* * *

The smell of oil and engine grease was something you got used to over a period of time and Kenny McCormick could safely say that he had gotten used to it. You had to if you wanted to last long as a car mechanic. If you couldn't face the stench of car fluids then what business did you have fixing them?

Personally, Kenny cared more about the income he got from the job more than anything but that was to be expected. He had spent his childhood in poverty, seen how drugs, alcohol, a bad relationship, and just how wrong foster care could go and he knew that he didn't want to spend the rest of his life involved with either of those things.

Due to the poverty, he wouldn't be able to get far. He couldn't afford college and scholarships could only pay so much. So he had to enter the job market and start earning himself a little bit of dough and when he saved up enough, skipped out on his parent's place and found one of his own. He just got lucky that the old owner of this particular garage had taken him in under his wing.

He didn't want to depend on luck. He had to make his own else he'd wind up back where he first came from.

But that was all in the past now and if there was one thing that Kenny McCormick was, it was looking towards the future and better times. And other than a better life, there was always the next person to receive the pleasure of his company. Ah…it was a shame he was going through a bit of a dry spell though. Had been a couple months since he last tussled in the sheets.

He'd meet someone, whenever that would be and after some wining and dining, get to the good stuff and then be on the lookout for the next one. Dang, that didn't sound good at all, did it? He just wasn't looking to settle or anything, just have a good time as well as take care of his libido. Was that so wrong? Why did girls think that once you wrestled mommy-and-daddy style that you were destined to be together forever?

If there was anyone he was destined for, it was not another person per se but the very town he lived in. Knowing full well that he wasn't ever going to be leaving South Park, Kenny had decided that if he was to remain here then he would do his best to at least leave it in better shape than when he found it.

Thus there was his nightlife which, contrary to what he may have hinted at earlier, was not a stint in a club or a bar. No, it was more on the rooftops, searching from high above for anything that might not be wholesome. Darkness would cloak him, the shadows shield him, and from the depths he would rise up and strike down those who would dare prey on the weak.

But that was his nightlife and had no bearing on his day job. During the day, he was just your typical, overcharging mechanic. Well, overcharging to those who didn't know him or he didn't like, he was thinking of you Cartman, you cheap asshole. Still owed him for the last job too…

He paused for a second as he heard a voice yell outside, "Watch where you're driving asshole!" He could have sworn…no way that was Cartman, right? Shrugging, he popped open the hood of the latest vehicle he was going to work on. He hadn't really kept in touch with the other guys and the only reason he interacted with the fat ass so much was because of work. He hadn't spoken a word with Stan since the guy left to go to New York and that had been how long? Kyle he saw every once in a while but again no words were spoken. A nod, a smile, and then on their way they went.

How did it turn out that way? Kenny didn't know but he wasn't about to let that darken his day. It was just another thing that happened and to be honest, he expected it. The three guys he knew as his friends were usually all over the place, always beyond what was around them and there were times where they didn't bring him along or even forgotten about him. Just a fact of life so what could you do about it?

All that was neither here nor there. What was was that the current customer said that they were hearing funny noises from the engine. Best to check the fluids first, the oil, the transmission fluids, all that stuff. You'd be surprised at how many problems could be fixed just by looking at those things. If it wasn't the fluids, then he'd check the parts of the engine, radiator, the pistons, the other parts, and not necessarily in that order.

Fixing a car was kinda like fixing a person, he mused. You had to know what was wrong with them first before you could do anything to help. Unlike a person, with a car you could really get accurate with what was wrong and then say with utmost certainty what it was. They had manuals and all sorts of stuff to help you out too.

Of course, you still had to get dirty but if there was one thing that he didn't mind, it was getting a little dirty.

And yes, there was more than one way to take that statement and he, naturally, meant it in more than one way.

Enough with the dirty thoughts, pun not intended, he needed to focus on his job for a bit.

* * *

"Craig! This came in the mail for you!"

Craig had barely sat down in his favorite chair when the short envelope fell into his lap. With as much effort as his tired body would allow, he lifted his head up to give his wife a bland stare which he did not stop until she left him alone in their quiet living room. Not quiet for long when he reached for the TV remote instead of the envelope and turned the television, ESPN shouting out highlights for the last few basketball games.

Staring at the TV for a moment, Craig let himself relax for a moment before finally picking up the envelope that his wife Brianna had tossed onto his lap. There was a slight thickness to it and after weighing it a bit, he tore it open graciously and pulled out the card that was inside of it.

Huh. High school reunion eh? At least it was the tenth anniversary of that instead of something dumb like the thirteenth. Wonder where that thought came from.

Life was nice and boring for Craig Tucker who had gone to the local community college like practically anyone who could afford it did right after high school. Like everyone else who went there, he majored in business, got out after two years, and found out just how worthless a degree in business really was.

That didn't stop him from clerking at the local grocery store where after seven and a half years, he was a proud manager and supervisor. Not the owner or anything high up like that but he was working his way to that.

A nice and boring life, just the way he liked it.

And what other way could you make your life normal and boring than to jump right into a marriage as soon as he had gotten his two year degree? While at that community college, he had met the girl who would become his wife when he was just shy of twenty-one years of age.

Brianna Bower as she had introduced herself to him. A perfectly average girl with average height and weight, average blonde hair, not so average but close enough green eyes, just pretty much average…or so he had thought until he had learned that she had once been a part of the U.S. Olympics swim team. Not only had she been a native to South Park, she had been homeschooled all her life (which explained why he hadn't known she existed for nearly twenty years) which allowed her to keep a focus on her swimming.

From what he heard, she had been pretty good too. And on a whim of not being boring, he proposed to her out of the blue one day. Miraculously, she accepted. One nice and boring wedding later, they were hitched but the honeymoon had been real short.

As in shorter than Eric Cartman's penis short.

That had been due to bad timing on Craig's part. The "I dos" were barely said and Brianna had to be on her way to an intense training camp. He wasn't sure but he thought there were also tryouts occurring soon after that for the next U.S. swim team but he might have been mistaken. Not that it really mattered since Brianna came back sooner than expected.

A bit of an accident had happened and somehow Brianna had injured her hip. Craig couldn't quite recall if she had broken it but all he did know was that the injury had been severe enough that she had to quite swimming. At least professionally.

That was tantamount to being a death sentence for her budding career as a world famous swimmer and in the following months, the best word that could describe her was bitter. Barely a year into their marriage and it felt like it had been a lifetime. Most of the time, Craig didn't care but there were those days when he dreaded going back home.

But those were far and few between.

Like a good husband, he did his best to help her out in her time of need. He even got her a position at the grocery store since the manager at that time had taken a bit of a liking towards him. Naturally, Brianna didn't like it. Not one bit. Two months later she was job searching again having "quit."

Really he tried, but the longer he stayed with her, the more Craig began to learn who Brianna really was. In normal terms, she was a bitch. There was really no other word that could be used to describe her. Just a nice and boring bitch. Ah, the typical wife.

There was a whoosh in front of his face and Craig came back to his senses. Huh, kinda zoned out there for a second…wait, where did that invite go?

"What's this?" Brianna Bower, now Brianna Tucker, demanded.

"High school reunion," Craig shrugged, seeing no reason to lie or anything. Too much effort and plus he didn't really care about hiding anything in the first place.

"Well if this isn't a reminder that the clock is ticking," Brianna snarked as she jerked her head to try and get some of her blonde bangs out of her eyes.

"Yep, pretty much normal," Craig said, training his eyes on the television screen.

"Don't you get tired of being normal?" Brianna scoffed.

"Not really," Craig said.

"I was being rhetorical," Brianna stated.

"Oh."

"How perfectly bland," she rolled her eyes as she stomped over and gently placed herself on the couch. Even after all this time, there was still some hope within her that one day she might be able to pick back up where she left off and enter the Olympics one more time. With the injury she had, Craig knew this at least that that was not going to be happening in this world any time soon.

"You should know by now," Craig said, shifting slightly in his chair as he sought to get more comfortable. "That's just the way I like it."

"Don't you have any ambitions?" Brianna protested.

"No," Craig answered before she could go on.

"You have to have some!" Brianna exclaimed.

Pondering for a minute, his thoughts drowning out his wife's voice (hey, he didn't know he could do that!), he interrupted her tirade with, "Now that you mention it…I'd like to get a pay raise. Maybe get my boss' job one day."

"You can't be serious," Brianna blinked at him.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Craig asked, giving her his normal, bland expression.

"You're comfortable with this…this low class living?" Brianna asked, appalled. "Don't you want better living? Don't you want to be able to enjoy the finer things in life?"

"ESPN is one of the finer things in life," Craig said, staring at the television where two hosts were debating a recent team's winning streak. "The finest," he added for good measure.

He ignored how Brianna's blue-green eyes flashed in ire because, really, it was perfectly boring and normal, just the way it was supposed to be. And also the way he liked it, couldn't forget that part.

"This isn't good enough for me!" Brianna stated. "I should be out there living it up, rich and admired and, and…I shouldn't be stuck in this rut!"

"That's life, babe, you're either moving or stuck in a rut," Craig replied.

He heard her groan and, more importantly, get up off the couch. This was perfect.

"Hey, if you're heading that way, can you grab me a beer?" he asked loudly, not taking his eyes off the TV set.

"Get it yourself!" Brianna shouted at him as she stomped away.

Ah, perfectly normal. Predictable. Nice and boring.

Just the way he liked it.

* * *

It wasn't the way she usually travelled but for the sake of getting there, it was going to have to be good ol' Greyhound.

Life had definitely been good to Bonnie Snyder, newly minted pediatrician. How someone like her had not only managed to get into medical school but graduate from it, she did not know but that's exactly what happened. But she wasn't just any kind of doctor now; she was a specialist of children. A pediatrician, licensed and a recent addition to the Children's Hospital Colorado at Saint Joseph.

She was just getting settled in to everything when she got the e-mail. It wasn't an actual invitation as she hadn't given anybody back home her new physical address but she understood why she had to settle for something so much more impersonal.

That wasn't really anyway they could get her the actual invitation to her ten year high school reunion.

Back to what was happening now, she was getting her bus ticket and heading on back to South Park. Normally she'd take her car but something weird was going on with it. She was no expert in cars; if her car was having trouble, she had absolutely no idea what was wrong with it. She had even just taken it over to the shop but it wouldn't be ready in time for the reunion itself due to the fact that the mechanic's garage was packed. Seemed like something was wrong with everybody's car.

Well, she wasn't about to let that get her down. It wasn't just for the reunion that she was coming back to her old home town.

Taking a seat on a bench and letting out a sigh, Bonnie relaxed as much as she could as she waiting for her bus to arrive. There was time enough to get lost in her thoughts and lost she got, her memories of a simpler time reminding her of all her exploits while she grew up in the old mountain town.

Most of them, though, were focused on a particular individual, a certain blond that had never really left her. The things she had done to get his attention just so he would sweep her off her feet like some noble prince and carry her off into the sunset…yeah, she had yet to grow out of her romantic fantasies.

But wasn't it everybody's dream to have their Prince Charming rescue them from…whatever danger they happened to be in be it aliens, mutant snowmen, or just boredom, and make everything end happily ever after? To fall in love with the one who captured your heart and he love you back with all of his being?

Oh, Kenny McCormick, why hadn't you become her Prince Charming?

Well, if anything, this reunion would provide her with one last chance to get the boy of her dreams, her pseudo-high school sweetheart. She imagined it as being something from one of those movies, you know, the ones where the main character returned to their home town for something and met back up with everyone they left behind? And while they were there, they'd find the person they had fallen in love with and after some plot development, they would come together, admit their love for one another and live happily ever after? All that in the previous sentences was what she was pinning her hopes on.

It was kinda pathetic but Bonnie didn't care. After co-managing a group of girls whose sole purpose was to hook up with the loves of their lives, Bonnie was willing and desperate enough to look to anything that would give her that one last chance of happily ever after.

Oh Kenny, if only you knew how much she felt for you.

Well, look at it this way, Bonnie-girl. This was one more chance to have that fantasy of yours become a reality! A last chance if you will, except if she chose to attend the twentieth reunion then that would be another chance if it didn't work out. Let's hope it didn't come to that. Just imagining how she and the others she grew up with would look in another ten years was…traumatizing.

No! She needed to think positive and take advantage of whatever comical opportunities were presented to her (because they were always comical moments in those movies). Then she could be content as she returned back to Denver and get back to taking care of sick and injured children, exactly what she had been studying and learning to do, and hopefully she wouldn't come back alone.

Seeing a bus pull in, Bonnie checked her ticket to make sure that it matched the bus number. Making a confirmation, she picked up the small amount of luggage she had with her and began heading towards her destiny.

And as it turned out, it would be a horrific destiny.

Noticing and dismissing how some departing passengers were kissing the ground, Bonnie placed the largest and heaviest of her bags into storage space that was accessed from outside of the bus. It was easy finding the one with the most room, an empty one and as soon as that was accomplished, she hefted the strap of the last of her luggage and slid it onto her shoulder.

Then, no sooner had she approached the doors to the bus had she looked up and saw the last face she had hoped never to see again.

"What are _you_ lookin' at?" the pudgy face of an all-too-familiar bus driver that had once driven for the South Park Independent School District sneered down at her from the driver's seat.

Bonnie gaped in terror. This wasn't _her_ bus, was it? It couldn't be, it shouldn't be! But her ticket betrayed her by declaring cheerfully that this was indeed her bus. Curse you inanimate paper object!

"Well?" the infamous bus driver from South Park barked at her. "Don't just stand thar! Get yer ass on tha bus!"

Bonnie sobbed internally but showed nothing externally because this guy preyed on weakness. He could smell fear, she was sure of it! Slowly, almost mechanically, she climbed the steps into the bus, trembling under the disgruntled gaze of the most disgruntled creature to have ever come into being.

She offered a small, tentative smile, hoping to perhaps lighten the bus driver's disgruntled mood but it, like a gazelle being chased down by a pride of lions, was a futile gesture.

"What are ya standin' thar for? Sit yer scrawny ass down!" the bus driver ordered, spittle spitting out from his lips and landing onto her.

Eww…

Picking up the pace, Bonnie shuffled along and took a seat that was up front, maybe too close to the actual driver's seat but she figured that it would be safer up front than in the back. She secured her back on the seat next to her and tried to get as comfortable as she possibly could considering the circumstances.

Fingers crossed…

After a few more passengers got on, all of them blissfully unaware of the Hell they were about to enter, as well as oblivious to the other petrified passengers who had the misfortune to have to be still on, the bus driver spat out a wad of some mysterious substance from his mouth and out of the bus before shutting the doors ominously.

"Fuckin' people, think they're better 'n me, like they all important an' shit," he muttered to himself as he put the bus into gear.

Bonnie shut her eyes tightly, preparing for the worst.

They pulled out of the bus station without a single mishap. Textbook perfect.

Cracking open one eye, Bonnie had the premature thought that _hey, this might not be all bad_—

"What the? Dozed off there for a second," the bus driver said to himself and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Knew I shoulda pick up that Speed earlier."

The shrieking of tires from outside the bus as a car nearly ran itself off the road to avoid the who knew how many tons of metal barreling down the road at seventy an hour put an end to any optimistic thoughts.

"Asshole doesn't know how ta drive!" the bus driver grumbled.

If only she had a rosary, Bonnie would be on her twentieth Hail Mary. The terror was in full gear and it had only barely begun—

The bus swerved to the right, Bonnie sliding in her seat in the same direction only to switch as the bus veered left. Car horns blared from either side of the bus, tires squealed in protest, and the bus driver didn't even think of using his God given brake pedal.

"Fuckers don't…oh, so ya wanna play chicken?" the bus driver sneered and Bonnie peered up to look through the front windshield only to watch in horror as the bright lights of an eighteen wheeler drew closer and closer to them.

After that, Bonnie kinda sorta blocked things out. How did she know that? Well, everything for the next hour or so was a black blur in her head. All she knew is that one moment they were heading, literally, into certain death and the next minute everything was calm. For a second, she thought she had fainted but soon concluded that no, she hadn't. There was no indication that she was groggy or anything and she wasn't wondering what time it was.

No, her body was still tense but not like it was before. If anything, it was in the process of relaxing somewhat. Of course, she still felt like her life was in danger but it wasn't as intense as before and she did not know why that was.

Perhaps she shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. If everything was okay now, then just go with the flow and…and…

Since when did this particular bus driver know how to drive so smoothly? In fact, in all the time she had known about him and/or had the misfortune to be one of his passengers, he had never driven so smoothly before…except when he had pulled out of the bus station who knew how long ago…

Gathering what little courage she had left, Bonnie got out of her seat, careful to make as little noise as possible because the disgruntled man had the ears of a fox when it came to noises on his bus, she crept up to where the driver sat.

Snoring.

It was a sound she wished she never had the displeasure to hear. The bus driver's mouth was wide open, sucking in air so fast that it sounded like he was trying to hock something unmentionable up, and his eyes were closed.

His eyes…were…closed…

His eyes were closed!

Snapping her head up, Bonnie saw that the bus was rushing straight towards a guardrail that was only fifty feet ahead and beyond that…nothing but air.

"Wake up!" she screamed at the man who chose now of all times to be dead from the neck up. Frantically, she grabbed at the steering wheel and tried to get the bus to start turning. Because the bus driver was, well, sitting in the driver's seat and looked like he weighed five hundred pounds, he blocked access to both the accelerator and brake pedals so Bonnie couldn't slow them down to make the turn.

She continued to scream at the man, catching the attention of the rest of the passengers who also began to panic just as the front of the bus crashed into and then through the guardrail.

From that point on, all that could be said was that the bus driver died peacefully in his sleep and not like the fifty other screaming people behind him.

* * *

Charlotte "Charlie" White: **Zephyr Morpheus Lee**

Brianna Bower/Tucker: **shesfreshtodeath**

Bonnie Snyder: **PinkParka**

The Bus Driver: **ShadowMajin**


	3. Some Things Never Change

Author's Note: I'm a bit surprised. So many people are mourning the death of the Bus Driver that has long plagued—I mean played a minor (trauma-inducing) role in this story line. I guess even ShadowMajin can get lucky and create interesting characters. To tell the truth, the Bus Driver came from a completely different fandom, a Dragonball Z fic called _A Feeble Trip To Insanity_ but I managed to convince SM to let me use him in _Fiends_ where he has remained in the South Park fandom to this day. I'd create an homage to him, feature small clips of the best of the Bus Driver…but I have more important things to do but in the spirit of mourning, let us bow our heads in a moment of silence.

Okay, back to the grindstone. A bunch of OCs show up here, more than I intended but that's what happens. This is kinda like an extension of the previous chapter but things should be picking up soon if things go the way I planned them. By chapter eight, hopefully, everything should be going to hell—I mean falling into place. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Some Things Never Change

Kyle cursed himself for doing something this stupid. Why hadn't he been paying attention more? The fact that it was first thing in the morning was not an excuse either.

How could something this innocent…? Jehovah, had he known…

Well, there was nothing for it. Somehow that damn invitation to the high school reunion had gotten mixed up into his workstuff and by pure accident he had brought it with him back to the office. And who managed to zero in on it before Kyle had even realized it was there? Fucking Mayor, that's who.

At first, he hadn't thought that it would have been such an issue. Damien had read the thing with the same expression a person would have watching paint dry. Complete boredom. It wasn't that Kyle though something like a reunion was important either. It's just…he had better things to do that attend that kind of thing. Like, he had to…he had to…do something pressing! That's what he had to do! Now if only he could have thought of something pressing he needed to do…

Of course, by the time he realized he needed something pressing to serve as an excuse, Damien's eyes had lit up and the Antichrist then asked him point blank if he was going. Just from the look Damien gave him, Kyle knew that for some inexplicable reason that Damien wanted to go and what Damien wanted to do, he typically did.

What Damien wanted to do this time was go to the reunion with Kyle on his arm like he was some kind of trophy or something. Kyle…just didn't want to go, that was all. He wasn't good at this kind of thing, you know, meeting back up with old classmates and reminiscing about the past… He was twenty-eight for crying out loud! He had better things to do, whatever they may be!

Naturally, Damien had to get him to admit he had nothing else better to do that night and well…looks like that was one night of not doing shit that Kyle wasn't going to have anymore.

The one upside was that he managed to convince Damien to do all his work first, that is, the Mayor was going to have to fulfill all his obligations first before the night of the reunion. He was to have an empty desk before then otherwise Kyle had the night off free.

Too bad that being the mayor of a small town didn't require as much work as, let's say, the mayor of a large city. At the rate Damien was going, he'd be finished up with everything by this afternoon and that was not counting what would crop up in the next few days.

That would mean that there would be free time later today. That would mean Damien would want to play another game of Boss' Secretary. That would mean—Jesus fucking Christ, _none of you_ needed to know anything more than that!

So when the door to his little office opened sometime after lunch, Kyle wasn't paying attention to who walked in. Could he be excused for saying out loud, "Don't even think about feeling me up you sorry excuse for a demonic lord of evil—oh. Uh, excuse me? I thought you were, uh, somebody else. Heh heh…"

That pathetic attempt to lighten the mood with a chuckle felt really flat, even to him.

The young blonde woman wrapped her arms awkwardly around her black jacket-clad body and gave an uneasy smile that was trying to be understanding but like Kyle's chuckle fell flat.

Searching his mind quickly for a name to this average-looking female, Kyle prided himself on at least being able to recall the identities of other people of the opposite gender better than a certain friend of his…

"Eh, Anna? How's the job over at Wendy's? Can I, um, help you?" he asked, hoping his voice wasn't cracking with embarrassment. He sounded good right there, at least he thought so.

"You remembered my name," young Anna Giluch said with an extremely slight accent. You could barely tell it was there unless you knew what to look for. Shouldn't be surprising since she had moved into town from Russia of all places. Why she chose South Park out of all the millions of other place she could have chosen, Kyle did not know but wasn't about to judge her for it like _certain_ people here would. Had he really been paying attention to her, he would have seen the obvious signs that she was swooning.

"Well, how can I forget the only person I know who came from Russia?" Kyle asked as pleasantly as he could. Damn, he was a much better talker back in high school; where the hell did his social skills go to?

Anna didn't giggle but her smile did widen a bit more, which had the contagious effect of putting the young Jew at ease. So far she wasn't demanding his head on a platter for his earlier comment.

"So what brings you here today?" he asked. While he was grateful that she wasn't feeling insulted, still he had things he needed to do here. She hadn't yet told him what had brought her here to City Hall. There wasn't much you could do here in the first place besides doing the time honored tradition of barging into the mayor's office and rabbling.

"Oh, um where would I need to go to pay some bills?" Anna asked. "I don't have any stamps and I still can't find the post office or anything so I was wondering if I could pay them here?"

"I see, you need to go back to the first floor and take a left. Down that hall, second door to your left. They handle this kind of thing here," Kyle answered. Now he was being helpful. Nothing made the young Jewish man feel more human than helping somebody out.

"Really? Do you maybe think you could show me?" Anna asked. "I wouldn't want to make a mistake. I mean, other than that time I got you the Double Baconator and didn't know that you only ate kosher."

"Hey, it's alright, you didn't know I was Jewish," Kyle said, dismissing the common mistake. It wasn't that he didn't advertise his heritage or anything; he just didn't think it was something that was important. So what if he was Hebrew? Didn't mean anything unless you were a certain fat bigot. "And anyway, I think I could show you. I don't think there's anything important that I need to be doing—"

The small intercom that was inlaid in the wooden surface of his desk buzzed. Sighing, Kyle answered it.

"_Kyle, do you think you could come over to my office? I'm in need of your assistance_," Damien's voice practically purred from the communication device.

"Christ," Kyle swore, rolling his eyes. "Right away," he responded before turning back to Anna. "Sorry 'bout that but duty calls. Just take a left when you leave the stairs and watch out for the renovators. They might be carrying some stuff that would not look good on anybody."

"Alright," Anna said and was it him or did she look a bit downcast for a second. Perking up immediately, she said, "I'll see you around then?"

"Sure," he answered. "I'll see what I can do about getting you into that community college nearby. Nobody wants to be a fast food worker forever, right?"

"You're so nice to me," she giggled at him before taking her leave.

Why would she think he'd be otherwise? He pondered that to himself; were people being mean to her or something? Maybe he ought to ask that next time he saw her. He needed to go babysit—er, tend to—um, he meant, _assist_ a certain mayor.

No sooner had he reached the doorway to his office, and just as he was crossing the threshold—

"What was taking you so long?" a voice growled, causing the Jewish man to jump.

"Don't do that!" Kyle exclaimed as he gripped his chest. "How many times have I…never mind. I was on my way; you didn't have to come all the way here to get me."

"Why was she here again?" Damien asked and if there were ever a loaded question, that had to be one.

"Fiscal responsibilities," Kyle said. "Some of us do have to pay our bills, you know."

"Are you absolutely sure that was her purpose for coming here? She didn't try to bring you bacon again, did she?" Damien pressed, leaning closer to the redheaded aide. "If she did, I'd be more than happy to take care of that…"

Oh yes, and if you guys were wondering what had happened to that Double Baconator that he had mentioned before, well, let's just say that Damien had taken it off his hands.

"No, no late lunch this time," Kyle said. "What do you need now? You were doing so much by yourself earlier…did something come up?"

"Something did and no, it's not a euphemism," Damien answered. "I don't like how often that woman is coming here. Most people don't come to city hall of all places because they love how the government works."

"Oh boy, here we go," Kyle found himself rolling his eyes again. "Damien, I swear to everything that's unholy about you, there is nothing going on between me and Ms. Giluch. She's only immigrated here recently and I figure she could use all the help she can get to make a living in this Godforsaken town. What's the big deal?"

"Don't worry your pretty little red hair about it," Damien chided as he tapped his fingertips on Kyle's forehead. "I'm just making sure that she isn't trying to take advantage of you. You're such a nice person and people like using that."

"The only person who's doing anything like that—" Kyle began but was interrupted when Damien pressed a finger on his lips.

"Hold that thought," Damien said. "We'll continue it later, when there's no risk of anybody else overhearing. You have told me, and on multiple occasions, to be careful about what I say in public. Be sure to practice what you preach, my dependable aide you."

"Don't be coy," Kyle muttered but let it drop. For now at least.

"I'll be coy as much as I want but for now I want you to not let your guard down about that little Russian. Who knows what she wants and before you say anything, stranger things have happened in this town," Damien said. "For all you know, she could be a Russian assassin that is part of some conspiracy that has an inane goal. It's happened before and there's nothing that says it won't happen again."

"But you would know who she was already, wouldn't you," Kyle stated. "I wouldn't put it passed you to check up on her file and I'm not talking the earthly one either."

"Nothing gets passed you, does it?" Damien chuckled. Looking up towards the ceiling as if a thought came to him, "Then again…your obliviousness is another of your defining traits."

"Obliviousness? Since when am I oblivious?" Kyle demanded.

"Don't think too much about it," Damien said soothingly as he guided Kyle back into the aide's little office, his arm placing itself on the Jew's shoulders in a subtle way to propel him. "We can…'discuss' it later."

"Since when is everything 'later' with you," Kyle huffed, crossing his arms.

"Since I'm always patient," Damien replied, slipping his forked tongue out for a moment before shutting the door.

* * *

Taking out the garbage was always a dirty chore but because _someone_ wouldn't do it, it had to be little ol' Conner.

He hated to take out the trash if only because he was the _only one who did it_! He had other things to do than just take out the trash, thank you very much! Important things like designing the next wedding dress that one of the Kardashians were going to use for their next seventy-two hour marriages.

But nooooo, somebody had to be a little bitch about it and…

…and he couldn't stand up for himself to save his life. What chance did he have against a housemate who was so much more dominant in personality to him? Had he known ahead of time that the person he agreed to share a house with was a freaking Satanist, he would have thought twice about it first…before saying yes anyway…

Why did he let himself get dragged into that strip club in the first place? Oh wait, he remembered, he had a submissive personality, that's why! Of course, you may be thinking that the strip club he had been dragged was the one that was close to the airport, you'd be wrong. You see, the person who dragged him to that strip club had been a girl and so naturally the club itself catered to those of the female persuasion.

That's just fancy talk for saying that all the strippers were guys.

Not that Conner had anything against that. If anything, his friend had been trying to get him to live it up. And it didn't hurt that the biggest thing he had in common with girls was that he could really appreciate another guy, as in _really_ appreciate, uh huh.

Guess that was why he became a tailor. He could design outfits with the best of them and even sewed some of them himself when he had the chance. He liked sewing, so what? Don't judge him! You're judging him aren't you? Please don't judge him…

But what did any of that have to do with taking out the garbage, you might be wondering? Well, currently there was piece of shit truck parked right in front of his neighbor's house and like anybody with a pair of decently working eyes, he knew who it belonged to.

That was like the fifth time this week he saw that pickup in front of his neighbor's and it was only Wednesday! Did Melanie have a shitty plumbing system or something because she was always calling over that fatass plumber.

And yes, it was that plumber who was the real cause of Conner's bad mood. Why would that be? Because whenever Conner ventured outside when that particular truck was out there, for some reason or another the plumber would also just happen to be leaving Melanie's house and spot him.

And as always, the plumber would call him a fag and tell him to get out of town because people in this town didn't take kindly to folk like him.

Conner irritably blew the dyed-light pink bangs that obscured his left eye, his light brown eyes expressing his discontent for all the world to see. The world wasn't paying attention to that little fact either so he was still left at the threshold with a full bag of trash at his feet. If only that Dillan was here to do this…and actually did do it once in a while…

Damn it, why had he agreed to sharing this place with that dumbass Satanist? Oh that's right, how could he forget? Dillan had suckered him into helping out with the mortgage while giving him a lap dance. Should he also mention that Dillan had thought he was a girl when they had first met? If only he hadn't been so sexy and…and…wait, what was he doing again?

Right, trash, needed to take it out. Well, might as well make a break for it and hopefully fate would be on his side this time and he wouldn't be—

"Fag alert! By God, why hasn't anybody done something about this? Look, look! He's robbing the place! There's his bag of stolen goods! Help! Police! Sheriff's department! Ku Klux Klan! We got a fag on the loose!"

One of Conner's light brown eyes twitched, a hand gripped at the white fabric of the hoodie that he wore, and then his mouth snapped out, "Shut the fuck up you overweight, tasteless, moneyless asshole!"

Huh, wonder where that came from?

"Ay! I'm not poor! And I'm not fat!"

"Says the guy in the faded blue overalls that are so fifty years ago!" Conner shouted back.

"I'll have you know that overalls have _never_ gone out of fashion you Goddamn hippie!"

"They went out of fashion the same time fedora hats and light blue beanies went out of style!"

A gasp. "Light blue beanies with yellow poof balls are still awesome you backwards, faggy hillbilly!"

"Says the guy who still lives with his mom!"

"Ay! My mom's a sweet lady! You leave her out of this!"

"I will the moment you stop discriminating against me!"

"I'm not discriminating against you; I'm just making sure everyone knows that a homo is in their midst so they can take steps to avoid your contagious gay germs!"

"Eric? Who are you yelling at?" a new voice interrupted the long distance shouting match.

"Did you know you live right next door to a fag?" Cartman yelled loudly at the young, petite-looking blonde who was peeking through her front door.

"Are you talking about Flower? Hi Flower! How's the sewing coming along?" the young woman known to Conner as Melanie Wishcast greeted, a dazzling smile being cast at him.

"No complaints, Mel; just got another special order in," Conner shrugged at her.

"What are you doing?" Cartman cried out, aghast. "Don't talk with it! You'll only encourage it to stick around!"

"But he's my neighbor," Melanie answered, tilting her head to a side, long, curly, golden-brown hair fallen around her neck and over shoulder, flowing down in front of a non-existent breast. Not that Conner was looking at those things. He had no interest in breasts at all. Babies drank from them. "And he makes the prettiest dresses. Say Flower, are you still going to make me that wedding dress like you promised?"

"Of course," Conner nodded, responding to the old nickname that never seemed to leave him no matter where he moved. "That is, so long as you get married."

"Just checking," Melanie nodded.

"That's all the more reason to move out! Don't you know that queers cause the house values to fall?" Cartman exclaimed.

"That's only when black people move in," Melanie responded patiently. For a moment, Conner could have sworn he saw something dark sharpen her dark green eyes. "And they never will," she said quietly to herself.

"Did you say something?" Conner asked, blinking as he thought he heard her say something under her breath.

"Nothing whatsoever! You must be hearing things," Melanie chirped at him.

"It's the same thing!" Cartman said. "Blacks, wetbacks, goobacks, homos, they all bring down the property values of a neighborhood. It's a proven fact!"

"Can it asshole!" Conner shouted at the bane of his quiet existence.

"Why don't you can it!" Cartman bellowed back. "And while you're at it, why don't you use those sewing skills, which is totally gay for a guy to do by the way, and put them to good use by sewing your asshole up! Assholes are for going number two and suppositories, not for fucking!"

By this point, a car was pulling up into the driveway, passing by Conner who still remained right next to the garbage can, his bag of trash resting by his feet. As the engine shut off, the black haired head of Dillan Teigs peeked out from the driver side door. Conner quickly looked away from the rumpled sight of his housemate and busied himself with taking care of the trash. He couldn't take seeing those sky blue eyes blink blearily at him, the plumber, and Melanie and only now wished that he brought his mask with him. It would have done wonders to hide his face right about now.

Used to be he always wore that damn thing and never took it off…of course, he once tried taking the trash out with his mask on and had to have the unpleasant experience of telling the cops that no, he was not robbing his own house. Fucking fat asshole just had to spot him didn't he?

"What's all this?" Dillan asked as his black-clad lanky form emerged from his car. Conner still couldn't bring himself to look at the other male, especially since he was currently recalling a time when those sky blue eyes were clouded with lust… "Is the plumber picking on you again?"

"Goth alert!" Cartman cried out.

Dillan rolled his eyes. "I'm not something as stupid as a Goth."

"You could've fooled me," Cartman spat. "You both worship the devil when you should worship Christ because damn it, he died for your sins at the hands of greedy Jews!"

Yeah…that had been something that Conner may have left out earlier. Not many people knew this and Conner only did because, hey, he was living with the guy, but his housemate, the guy who he was helping to pay the mortgage, was a Satanist. He had mentioned that before, hadn't he? He couldn't quite remember. Still, he was nice for a devil-worshiper and Conner wasn't really one to judge someone for something like that.

Holding out his hands in front of him, his fingers crossed in a way that they formed a cross, Cartman shouted, "The power of Christ compels you! Give up your devil-worshiping beliefs and come over to the good side! Don't you know that only the good people go to heaven and those who go to heaven get ten thousand dollars cash?"

Dillan raised an eyebrow at the plumber and followed that up with a shrug. Before he could answer, though, a yell from across the street interrupted them.

"What the hell are you assholes doing?! Can't you see I'm busy feeling sorry for how shitty my life is over here?" Brianna Tucker screamed at them from one of the windows of her home.

"Hey Brianna!" he called out to her and waved, hoping to be neighborly.

"Fuck off homo!"

"You tell him bitch!" Cartman applauded her.

"Shut your fucking piehole, you fat asshole; nobody wants to hear your shit either!" Brianna shouted back.

"Ay! Why don't you say that to mah face, ho!" Cartman bellowed, his anger now directed at someone else.

"I would if I was able to see around that mountain you call a stomach!"

"Are you calling me fat? You're calling me fat, aren't you? Fuck you bitch!"

"Wait 'til I get some Pap's Blue Ribbon in me and I'll show you what a bitch really is!"

"Bring it on! I'll bitchslap you back to the fifties where women were respectful to men!"

"I think we've been forgotten," Dillan spoke into his ear, somehow coming up right next to Conner without him knowing.

Conner nodded, taking the hint to go inside while his nemesis argued with their neighbor from across the street. Hopefully they would be able to not have to talk to any cops about a reported domestic disturbance that just happened to be the one brewing right in front of them.

So as Melanie continued to watch, the two young men headed back inside.

* * *

With a sigh, elbow propped up on the cashier's counter, Jay Seamer stared straight ahead of himself, a glazed look in his dark eyes. He was freakin' bored out of his mind but knew better than to abandon his station just to entertain himself.

Yeah, he knew that the hard way. Who knew that his employer could be so imaginative? Sure, it was Wolf Black, the owner and operator of the Black Market, and the guy had some screws lose in his head but who would have thought he'd get so mad at him taking apart some of the more illegal merchandise? What could Jay say, he liked guns!

He especially liked firing them.

He didn't need to be bitched at twice and really, he had no idea just how much value he had taken away from that one particular machine gun just by pulling the trigger once. It was a machine gun! Who wouldn't fire it if they had the chance?

It need not be said that it was also been loaded at the time…

Whatever, he got it. Don't touch the guns unless he was allowed to. Whatever. The fact that Wolf still remembered to this day…if Jay hadn't known that Wolf was a man of his word, he would have left a long time ago. But here he was, working as a clerk for the infamous Black Market, the one stop to get all the deals you couldn't get anywhere else.

Seemingly popping up out of nowhere, the shorter Wolf glared at him with this look that was supposed to make the slightly taller Jay feel like an insect but in reality didn't faze him one bit. "There wasn't an exclamation mark at the end of that thought," Wolf stated. "Do the inner monologue over."

Christ, he hated how that idiot somehow knew what his thoughts were. And look, he was gone again. Great. Well, like the boss said…what had been the monologue again? Uh, he was working at the Black Market. Oh right. Ahem. The Black Market, the one stop to get all the deals you couldn't get anywhere else!

Happy now?

"Very much," Wolf said from the backroom.

…how did he do that?

This better be worth it. Jay wasn't sticking around this place just because he happened to get paid slightly better here than at, let's say, Wall Mart, though he was. And before any more reprimands came his way, the Black Market, where you can get stuff cheaper than at your generic retail supercenters! Fucking advertisements…

Anyway, he was bored out of his mind right now. It was an occasional slow period and restocking of the shelves had already been done. What else could he do but stand where he was and wait for someone to come in? He should really get out of retail. But where else could someone like him go with his skills? He had already gone through a stint in the military from which he had been discharged—er, left due to ideological differences?

He had heard there was this mercenary that went by the name "ze Mole." Was he taking on any interns?

He blew air out of his mouth, his lips flopping rapidly at the actions. Fuck, he was so bored out of his mind!

"What do you think you're doing?" Wolf's voice suddenly cut through his agony. Jay barely glanced at his employer, not needing to see that dress suit wearing, suspenders showing, gel-haired honkey. He could already see him in his mind's eye, Wolf's dark eyes pissy and his face scrunched up in such a way that it reminded him of a bus driver whom he had the misfortune to be a passenger of.

When Jay didn't answer immediately, Wolf rolled his eyes. "Why don't you sweep the floors if you have so much time on your hands? I need this place to look neat if I'm to attract customers."

"Even if this is a semi-legal business?" Jay grunted.

"Especially since it's a semi-legal business," Wolf replied.

"Whatever," Jay grumbled, finally sparing a glance at his employer. Immediately, he spotted the small envelop in Wolf's hand and since this was a slow day, his interest was piqued. "What's that?"

Getting what he was asking, Wolf held up the envelope. "This? Just an invitation to the high school reunion."

"Are you going to go?" Jay asked.

"Of course! Where else am I going to find new suckers—I mean customers?" Wolf snorted derisively. "Now get your ass to work; I'm not paying you to stand around like a bump on a log."

"Whatever," Jay grumbled but walked off to do what he had been told.

This had all better be worth it.

* * *

Stan Marsh would never have had expected to wind up in New York City of all places but this was where he had ended up and man he was loving every minute of it.

He had never really been interested in what economics were before; hadn't even known what they were outside of a few…incidents. Maybe this was why he hadn't found out just how good he was with it until after he had to do that one project for a college class he had that involved using fake stocks and shit. Hyped up on practically owning people in that class, he had headed for New York and Wall Street and now he was like Charlie Sheen.

_Winning_!

No seriously, he really was like Charlie Sheen, or at least like him in one of his movies. Stanley Marsh, hotshot stockbroker and rising star in one of the last bastions of capitalism. He was raking in more moolah than he had ever thought possible and had never dreamed he would actually have that much.

It kinda went to his head. Okay, it really did go to his head but he was rich, bitch! What did he care what you thought of him. He was in the middle of negotiating with some guys over in France or whatever stickhole there was on that continent, trying to get them to buy some dumbass stocks in some miscellaneous company that specialized in selling novelty eight balls and he was loving it like a boss!

Yes! And there he went selling another few thousand stock! Commissions, how he loved you! This called for a…no wait, he shouldn't. Too early for a drink and if he did that after every successful negotiation, he'd be drunk by noon.

Yeah, he was good at what he did. Fuck, he was _winning_!

Dollar, dollar bill, ya'll.

Inexplicably, he had the thought that something was missing yet he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. It was something that happened now and then; he'd always feel as if there was something he had forgotten about but no matter how hard he tried, he could never figure out what it was.

Like usual, he shrugged and got back to business. He figured that he'd remember what it was later. It couldn't be something important, right? Cash for that yacht he had his eye on wasn't going to make itself.

Pressing a button on the phone/intercom setup that rested on his desk, he said out loud, "Hey Doreen? Has anything come into my box yet?"

"_Just one thing, Mr. Marsh."_

"Bring it in here," he ordered, lifting his finger from the button. Ah, he truly was a boss now, wasn't he? Ordering people around and having them listen to him for once, he fucking loved it. No more being the brunt of the joke anymore, he had cash baby!

In almost no time at all, Doreen showed up and handed him a single envelope. Without another word, dismissing his secretary with the wave of his hand, Stan curiously read the handwriting on the letter. This shouldn't have gotten into his inbox. Anything that was mailed here was supposed to be business related. If this was junk mail…

Opening it up, he found out soon enough what it was.

It was an invitation to the high school reunion back in that old hick mountain town that he grew up in…eh…South…Central? No, too black.

Well, whatever, it was just as he thought it was.

Junk mail.

Then as fast as it occurred to him, he stopped himself short from throwing it into the trash. Hold on a sec, this was an invite to the high school reunion. Wow, had it really been ten years? Man, he hadn't seen any of the guys in like forever! Hadn't talked with them either. Guess he was just being too busy of a boss. It would be nice to get back together with them, see what was going on, show off how great his life was going, and come back feeling even more like a boss than before.

Once again, that feeling that he had forgotten something returned only stronger than ever. Damn it, what was it that he had been forgetting? He was going to figure out what this thing was—oh wait, it was gone now. His rage must have chased it away or something.

Well, whatever, heading back to that redneck mountain town…South…Pole?…was starting to sound like a good idea. He could use a break from the fast pace of the stock market. The thing wasn't going to crash if he took an impromptu vacation now, would it?

Right.

"Hey Doreen?" he spoke to the phone, pressing his finger on the speaker button again. "I'm going to need to set aside some vacation time."

* * *

"You know, just now I had the urge to sneeze but it just went away as fast as it showed up," Kyra McCloud commented, a Subway turkey and lettuce sandwich in one hand.

"I guess someone was thinking about you behind your back and stopped?" Gary hazard.

"Or I just didn't need to sneeze anymore," Kyra shrugged, long brown hair falling over her shoulder. Brown eyes blinked lazily as she took another bite from her sandwich, the lettuce crunching as she bit into it.

"Don't care about Japanese superstitions, eh?" Gary said.

"After living in this town for so long, it's not superstitions that I'm worried about," Kyra answered.

"I'll have to give you that one," Gary said as he took a bite from his BLT, also from Subway. "So what's on your mind today?" he asked after he finished chewing and swallowing.

"Other that dreading for school letting out in a few weeks, not much," Kyra answered.

"All the kids going to your store instead of my classroom," Gary teased.

"It's not that I mind but they always put the games back in the wrong places," Kyra sighed.

"Well, if you wanted, you don't have to do that," Gary felt the need to point out.

"Don't talk about Nintendo right now," Kyra said before saying quietly, "I'm still undecided."

"I hate to be the one to break it to you but you don't have a lot of time," Gary said. "They'll eventually make a decision for you, that being the one where they give up on you and go for someone else more willing."

"I know that," Kyra sighed. "It's just…it's just a really big decision. I like it here but if I take the job, I'll have to leave and I like having lunch with you."

"Having lunch with me can't possibly be the highlight of your life," Gary chuckled. "I don't want to be the one holding you back Kyra. Or at least, I don't want to be the thing that holds you back."

"Can we talk about something else?" Kyra asked, her brown eyes pleading.

Giving her smile, Gary nodded at her and tried to think of something else that they could talk about. It took him a moment but it seemed a neutral enough topic. "Have you gotten that letter for the reunion yet?"

"Yep," Kyra answered, taking another bite from her sandwich.

"Thinking of going?" Gary asked.

"Maybe," Kyra shrugged, speaking through chewed-up bread and turkey.

"What? Shy?" Gary teased. "Don't you want to see how all the others are doing?"

"I wouldn't mind finding out what's been going on with the others…" Kyra said after swallowing, slowly trailing off.

Gary's brow furrowed. "Is it Stan?"

"It's been nearly seven years since we last spoke to one another and not one phone call or even an e-mail," Kyra explained, the words coming out of her in a rush. "I feel like he's forgotten about me. I know that we had a few words that night but he didn't have to just disappear and go away."

"Who knows what's going through that head of his," Gary remarked. Looks like this topic wasn't as neutral as he thought it was. "You know, if you're uncomfortable, we could talk about something else."

"Are you going to go?" Kyra asked quickly, speaking literally as soon as he stopped.

Blinking at her, he answered slowly, "Sure. I mean, I don't have anything else going on and thought it might be fun."

"I don't know," Kyra sighed. "Maybe…maybe seeing how things are going with everyone else, I might make up my mind about that Nintendo offer. What are the odds that Stan's just going to show up anyway? I haven't heard from him in this long and I know how forgetful he is about other women."

"Well, that's one way to do it," Gary said. "Let's just have a fun time. What's the—"

Gary found himself being interrupted as a hand slapped on his face. "Please don't say those words," Kyra said.

Gary blinked innocently at her, not understanding the reason for this behavior.

Sighing, Kyra explained, "In a town like South Park, the kind of things that are of the worst kind tend to happen a lot and especially when you tempt fate or whatever disembodied creature that's up there that has an obsession with creating havoc here."

Nodding his head, Gary waited for Kyra to pull back her hand but as she did so, he blinked as he saw a white feather rest on the palm of her hand. Now where had that come from?

"What's this?" Kyra asked aloud, also surprised by the occurrence. Narrowing her eyes, she accused playfully, "Look what you've done now. It's already happening."

"Oops," Gary said with a grin on his face. "Guess I like to live dangerously." And then he took another bite from his BLT.

If he had known now what he would in time, he would have wished he had never said those words.

* * *

Anna Giluch: **jewsjustcantdance**

Connor "Flower" Flowers: **DemonBlueFox**

Melanie Wishcast: **Tina the Tigger**

Dillan Teigs: **IheartHelloKitty23**

Jay Seamer: **CrownedSoldier**

Wolf Black: **ShadowMajin**

Kyra McCloud: **Beyond The Horizon**


	4. Awesome Foreshadowing

Author's Note: Okay, I'm warning you guys right here, right now, there are some spoilers for _Malicious Motives_ in here. For those that haven't read it, there are spoilers here. For those that have…then it shouldn't be surprising to see it. Remember guys, this is the fourth installment in a series of stories so naturally they will be building off one another as they progress chronologically. There are also a few things I'd like to mention later so look for the author's note at the end. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Awesome Foreshadowing

Brittany Love could not believe what she was hearing. She had come all the way here from Washington D.C. with the intention of attending this ten year high school reunion their class was having when she had been contacted by Wendy Testaburger of all people to do…_this_.

Now Brittany was reminded just why she didn't like Wendy Testaburger and the reason she kept away from her. Yes, Wendy was in charge of putting this thing together but did Wendy really expect her to…to…

It was just pissing her off that she was going to have to do this! Had it just been Wendy who asked her, she would have flat out said no but Wendy had asked her to do this one little task while others were watching the two of them so Brittany's ability to flat out say no was limited. If she refused to do it, she would just look bad in front of the people she grew up with and she didn't want that happening.

Damn it all, she was a journalist, not…not…_this_! She worked for the freakin' _Washington Post_! One of the most famous and most trusted newspapers in the United States! It hadn't been easy to get accepted into it either! So many days of painstaking work, so many sleepless nights as she prettied up everything she did. So much effort was put into getting herself this far in life and so far it was all paying off!

She was in the fast lane, on a one track drive to success. She was going places, making a living she could be proud of as well as be able to rub in other people's faces!

And why? Why?! Why did Wendy and the others trust her to do this one little thing? Was it because she was a journalist that she knew how to write? Was that it?

No, no it wasn't.

Perhaps you are wondering just what it was that was asked of her. What little thing was she asked to do that put her all out of sorts, you might be asking. What could possibly be so horrendous that Brittany Love was making such a big deal out of it?

Sigh.

Wendy Testaburger had asked her to write a eulogy in memory of Bonnie Snyder. Not only was she supposed to write the eulogy, she was also supposed to read it out loud to all the other classmates that had graduated alongside her and Wendy and everyone else.

And you want to know the one thing about it why this was causing her so much stress?

She _hated_, no, _despised_ Bonnie Snyder! She loathed the very ground that bitch walked on, detested the very air she breathed! The sight of her, the smell of her, hearing that annoying voice that would never go away because the dumb broad didn't know _when to shut up_! She hated it all.

Yet, Wendy's reasoning for having her, Brittany, write this eulogy was because the two of them had spent so much time with one another back in high school and that they were such close friends…

Friends? You've got to be kidding! They weren't friends! They were rivals, no, that wasn't strong enough a word… Enemies! That's what they were! Enemies! Enemies who just happened to be a part of the same social group whose sole purpose was to hook girls up with the guys they liked.

And now, her days as a LESBIAN were coming back to haunt her.

If she knew where Wendy 2 could be found, she'd go to her and kick that cunt's ass!

Seriously! Why was it that things came back to bite her in the ass? All she had wanted (back then, naturally) was to be Kenny McCormick's girlfriend. Was that too much to ask for? She had, like, just one date with him and he never calls back, never asks for another date, nothing! Wasn't an exploding Shakey's memorable enough?

That's where the enmity with Bonnie came from; Bonnie also liked Kenny and refused to step aside so that the handsome teenager could be hers and hers alone. What was most irritating was that Bonnie had some kind of fantasy where Kenny was some kind of knight in shining armor who would sweep her off her feet and carry her off into the sunset…

Actually, that sounded good but still! Last time Brittany had seen Bonnie, she was still wishing for that fantasy. Of course, the last time that Brittany remembered being close enough to Bonnie, physically speaking, was when they were in some alley that was downtown and someone tried to run them over with a car. Because of that, Brittany had to stay in the hospital during her senior prom and who knows how close to home base Bonnie got with Kenny!

There were a lot of stories about what had happened during prom but Brittany, to this day, had yet to make heads or tails out of any of it. Something about a crazy bitch with a gun, a cat girl, and blood raining from the ceiling was the best that Brittany managed to get out of all the garbled talk. After that, she decided not to investigate more because she had a feeling that things had gotten much more wacky later on.

Sounded fun. Too bad she was stuck with some broken bones at Hell's Pass! Damn it! The one night every teenage girl dreams about and she has to miss it!

But let's get away from her past regrets and back to the thing she was really regretting right now. Bonnie's eulogy. Did some god up there hate her or something? Did whoever was responsible for this just love tormenting her?

She didn't know who to blame now for the predicament. Wendy Testaburger, Wendy 2 and LESBIAN, or some disembodied entity. Perhaps most of the blame could be placed solely on Bonnie. If Brittany could figure out a way to get back at her now dead rival, she'd show her that Brittany Love was the last person you ever crossed.

But first, what could she say about the dead that wouldn't make her, the living person, look bad?

* * *

"A little to the left…a little more…a little more…no, no, you went too far, go to the right—stop! …okay, a little to the left…"

Wendy stuck her tongue out of her mouth, her teeth clenching onto the small muscle as she directed her two helpers put up the long banner that had the words "Welcome Class of 2012!" written on it. One of her eyes shut tightly as the young woman tried to judge for herself that the banner was hung perfectly. It was taking a while as it always seemed like the thing was not hung _just right_.

"There! There, there—noooo! Go back to the right—wait! There! Right there! No not more right!" Restraining a groan, Wendy continued to give her directions.

Everything needed to be perfect this time around! No murders. No sabotage. No crazy college girls waving guns around. Wendy wanted this to be a normal, planned get-together. Was it too much to ask for?

Beside her, Gary Harrison stood watching her, arms laden with various things that were important to setting this reunion up. Wendy had tuned him out in favor of directing the set-up of the gymnasium that she had successfully managed to convince the principal to let her use over the weekend. By Monday it would have to be all cleared out but she was sure over the next three days that that was not going to be a problem.

"Don't you think you're going a bit overboard?" Gary asked from beside her.

"No! I will not let this one be ruined like everything else!" Wendy declared. "I have to make sure that nothing spoils this! Is it too much to ask that we have just one gathering where nothing life-threatening happens?"

"I've found that once you put it out there, it's like daring it to happen," Gary shrugged.

"Aren't you supposed to be optimistic and cheerful or something?" Wendy asked, giving the Mormon a skeptical look.

"That is in my character," Gary replied, not in the least bit put off.

"You have to be so calm, don't you?" Wendy said, eyes narrowing.

"Somebody has to be," Gary shrugged.

"What is that supposed to—what are you guys doing? The right side is lower than the left! Raise it up—not that much!"

"If you insist on being a perfectionist, why don't you come up here and do it yourself!" one of her helpers demanded.

"Then how am I supposed to know if it looks right if I'm not down here making sure it does look right?" Wendy asked in reply, tilting her head to a side as if prompting the one who spoke to give an honest answer.

"How about we go with good enough and call it a day?" Gary suggested.

"Ugh! You're such a guy!" Wendy complained.

Gary blinked, not quite understanding. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"Guys just don't get it," Wendy rolled her eyes and then frowning. "Come on girls! To the left a little! Perfect! Wait…okay, it's just perfect now."

"Finally!" one of Wendy's helpers sighed and lowered an end in relief.

"God damn it, you ruined it!" Wendy nearly shrieked.

This was going to take a while.

* * *

Charlie gave a deadpanned look at the visitor on her doorstep. "Does it look like I'm going to go?"

"I would have assumed you would have since I doubt you have anything else better to do," Damien answered.

"People change, I'm not going to the stupid reunion," Charlie stated. "And for your information, yes, I _do_ have better things to do."

"Did your boy toy stand you up?" Damien teased, eyes lighting up malevolently. "Or does he have some new plan to spoil this get-together? The last one was quite entertaining."

"First of all, he told me himself that he couldn't be bothered to come," Charlie answered. "'Ten years is not long enough away from them' were his exact words."

"So he's planning for the twentieth, hmm?" Damien mused.

"I don't know how you managed to guess," Charlie shook her head. "Done yet? Please, go before I lose my manners."

"Expecting a call?" Damien taunted. "I can understand; when desperation surrounds you, you have to resort to cheap alternatives like online pornography or unsatisfactory phone sex."

"You would know," Charlie retorted. "Didn't your father ground you for a few weeks before he ditched you in my care?"

Damien narrowed his eyes at her. "Do not bring him up. Just because you've somehow enamored yourself into his jet-black heart does not mean you won't face consequences for your insolence. One day I will be the one on his throne and all slights _will_ be remembered."

"You say that now—" Charlie began but was cut off.

"I have a long memory," Damien interrupted. "I still remember my first day of school in this town, elementary school that is, and the slights that were perpetrated against me then will also be dealt with."

"Does that also include _your_ boy toy?" Charlie retorted, a bit peeved that this asshole had interrupted her.

"I never said I was above playing favorites," Damien replied with a smirk.

"Because you're such an imperfect little devil, aren't you?" Charlie muttered.

"I prefer Antichrist but I will admit to being a devilspawn," Damien said cheekily.

"Whatever, I'm not going, end of story," Charlie stated, attempting to close the door. While most people would have stuck their foot in the way, Damien wasn't most people. A flare of his eyes and an unseen force held the wooden barrier wide open. Charlie struggled with it for a second before glaring at him. "I said I'm not going."

"Don't you know nothing excites me more than the suffering of others?" Damien teased. "You're going to be my right-hand man…woman in the distant but not too distant future. It would be best if you attended functions with me right now so that you know all my little quirks."

"Isn't that what Kyle's for?" Charlie snorted.

"Come now Charlotte—" Damien began to wheedle, his voice changing to resemble a familiar velvety yet scratchy voice.

"You don't have permission to call me that," Charlie glared at him. For a moment, this Antichrist asshole sounded like… "And don't you fucking dare use _his_ voice. It's bad enough that he sounds like that in the first place."

"But you let the sinner call you that all the time," Damien pointed out.

"That's because he refuses to call me by, and I quote, a masculine nickname that should never be attached to something that bleeds for five days and doesn't die," Charlie said dryly. "That and don't you know how formal he is?"

"So when he calls you a whore, he's being informal?" Damien asked, genuinely curious from the way he was looking at her.

"I guess," Charlie shrugged. Even after all this time, she still couldn't figure out what went on inside Bain's head. Devious little son of a bitch. Hand gripping the open door, she pulled on it experimentally only to be disappointed when it didn't move an inch.

"If you desire it, I can bring him here," Damien offered. "You must miss him so much…"

"Don't fucking bait me; I have better things to do than to waste time with a bunch of people I could care less about," Charlie refused.

"And what 'better things' would that be?" Damien asked, already knowing that there weren't any "better things."

"I have to get my sister to take down the little shrine she has in her closet to that sexist asshole down," Charlie answered immediately.

Apparently, not expecting this, Damien blinked dumbly. "She what?"

It seemed like the shock of that statement weakened whatever hold Damien had on the door and Charlie took that chance to slam it in front of the Antichrist's face without saying another word. Not that she wanted to say anything more to Damien in the first place.

Sadly, she wasn't lying about that shrine. This was just a little fallout from an aborted scheme of Bain's back when they were in high school and before their dating days. She had figured that he had been trying to turn her family against her and isolate her and had started by charming Tammy, her youngest sister, but that plan had come to a screeching halt. By that, she meant he had nearly drowned in Stark's Pond and after being resuscitated had woken up with a bad case of amnesia.

As you can tell, he got better.

Or worse, depending on who you asked.

But one thing that hadn't changed was that Tammy was still head over heels for him. Instead of doing what she would have expected him to do, that is kill Tammy and hide her body so that no one would find it, Bain avoided her as best as he could. Maybe there was some residual of that amnesiac Bain in there somewhere who was so pliable and allowed Tammy to once cover his face in make-up.

She still has that picture and it's kept for blackmail purposes should the need ever arise.

Whatever the case, Bain tried to stay away from her house so that he wouldn't get cornered by Tammy and Tammy still had aspirations of marriage. Charlie had prayed that Tammy would have outgrown that childhood crush…but who was she kidding? Insanity ran in the White Family, or what was left of it.

Had Charlie not had gone into Tammy's room to dump her clean laundry on her bed and accidently banged her foot against the closet door, allowing it to open somewhat, she would have never found it.

This was going to be a tough talk.

* * *

Bonnie was groggy. Really, really groggy. She had no idea of what was going on and had no memory of how she ended up in such a state.

Slowly, but surely, things began to sharpen, the blurred picture that met her eyes clearing up. She rubbed her temples, kneading the skin a bit though for some reason, she felt a cold sensation meet her fingertips.

And now her head was aching. Great. What else could happen?

In a flash, the memory of a bus sailing through the air and off a cliff greeted her.

Her eyes widened. She had been on a bus, that's right. A bus with that Godforsaken bus driver…who had fallen asleep at the wheel. Yes, yes, she remembered screaming, she was screaming, the mountain was rushing up towards the windshield—and now she was…

…she was…

What was she doing at the Black Market?

Rows of shelves filled with various merchandise, and all at a cheap price too, met her. The lighting overhead was kinda dim and—whoa! Wasn't that…? It was! That was a brand new, state-of-the-art physician's tools and gadgets kit! Reflex tester, stethoscope, ear checker with light attachment, and other various tools of the medical doctor's trade! And it was all at a low, low price too! She had been looking for this kind of stuff so that she wouldn't have to use some of the hand-me-downs back at the practice!

"What the—? Wolf! There's another honkey!"

Honkey?

Bonnie looked away from the drool-worthy display in front of her and—holy shit, it was a black man! Was he holding the place up? Please don't hurt her! She's still a virgin!

"What are you babbling about—oh."

Emerging from the back, Wolf Black, owner and operator of Black Market appeared and it looked like he was getting dressed up for something.

Why was he looking at her like that?

"Great, as if I'm not late enough already," Wolf rolled his eyes. "Still, it's not like it can wait either."

"Just do whatever you do with them," the black guy muttered, looking very uncomfortable. Wasn't he supposed to be robbing the place or something?

"Just man the counter Jay. Don't scare anyone off like you did last time," Wolf glared at the taller male. Wolf's dark eyes then gazed at her and Bonnie felt a shiver crawl up her spine. When he began walking towards her, Bonnie had the feeling that he was moving very much like the predator that he was named after. "You know, you could pick a more convenient time to pop up," Wolf said disgruntledly. Odd, for a moment he sounded like that bus driver…

Bonnie opened her mouth to speak but how to swallow a few times before she could say anything. Wow, her throat was really dry! Strange how there was no saliva going down though. "Did…did you rescue me?" she asked, her voice incredibly hoarse.

"Rescue you?" Wolf frowned at her. Eyes lighting as something came to him, he said, "Oh, you haven't figured it out yet. Well, allow me to break this to you gently. You're dead."

Bonnie stared at the businessman as if he had lost his marbles. "No I'm not."

"You most certainly are!" Wolf replied jovially, an arm snaking around her shoulders while the other dug through his pockets as if looking for something. When his hand came up with nothing, he said, "Hold on a sec."

A shrill whistle passed through his lips and Bonnie winced at how high pitched it was. The black guy, Jay, covered his ears and was shouting at Wolf to warn him whenever he did that.

However, what happened next was unbelievable. Zooming out by its own accord, a glowing piece of paper zipped through the air, Wolf's hand catching it with practiced ease. "Okay, it says here that you, Bonnie Snyder, are in debt to me. Wow. Now that's a bit pathetic. A super PAC for your run for Prom Queen. Did you get burned on that one," Wolf chuckled before adding darkly, "…so did I."

Bonnie did not like that tone of voice. She also had no idea what he was talking about.

"Confused?" Wolf asked, that dark look of his vanishing. "Well, you wouldn't be the first one so let me explain it to you. According to this little contract here, you sold your soul to me in exchange for me funding your campaign for prom queen during your senior year. You do remember that, don't you? Of course you do, we had debates and FOX News and it was all one big circus and—oh! There was that crazy chick who tried to take the crown for herself! You remember that, right?"

How could she forget? In the following days, it came out that that crazy chick happened to be a former prom queen herself who went crazy after her prom night ended badly. She also happened to be related to the school's horrible recluse, Bain Cynis. She didn't have any fond memories of that guy.

Hold up.

"You mean…I was actually selling my soul back then?" Bonnie exclaimed.

"Getting it?" Wolf said as he began guiding back into the backrooms of the Black Market. For some reason, Bonnie felt as if she was being propelled forward and she wasn't really walking either. At least, she couldn't tell if her legs were moving…

"Yeah, most people think it's a joke," Wolf shrugged. "You'd be surprised how many people agree to do it; it's maddening and amazing at the same time. Now, I'm not going to bore you with all the details, the various things in play, the over technical stuff, all you need to know is that you're in good hands right now."

"I don't…understand…" Bonnie whimpered, her mind spinning.

"That's okay, you don't have to," Wolf said offhandedly as the two approached a thick metal door. Pressing down on the door handle, Wolf opened it and began to push Bonnie beyond it.

Bonnie tried to dig her heels in but continued to move anyway. Getting a good look at what was before her, the young pediatrician's jaw dropped opened. It was a sea of hazy green but within it were all these people who was looking straight at her and were they begging?

Then she noticed the green haze that was around her…

"Welcome to your new home," Wolf said. "You check in but you don't check out," he added as he shoved her forward.

The slamming of the door sealed away all hope.

* * *

"I didn't know Bonnie as well as I should have, even though we did spend a lot of time together. I guess you could say we were…like…sisters…" the young woman known as Brittany Love broke off as she covered her mouth, her shoulders quivering.

Most took it as she was taking this tragedy very hard. The reality was that she was trying to muffle her joyous laughter at finally being rid of her most persistent rival.

Everyone was blessed to remain in ignorance.

Eric Cartman didn't care. Why should he care about some ho he barely knew? Conveniently, he left out the fact that he had once belonged to the same little club the girl had belonged to…what was it called again? It had something to do with homo chicks, he knew that much.

Damn it, why'd she have to die, huh? This was taking away from all the attention he could be garnering up! Instead of having a good time and boasting about his (fake) accomplishments, he had to stand around like he was at some kind of funeral and be mournful.

"We…we squabbled…a lot…" again the ho up front broke off, shoulders trembling. God! Get this fucking thing over with! There was only so long he could remain silent without talking about himself! Why was it that some dead chick was getting more attention than him? "And maybe we did say some things to one another that weren't…" And again with the breaking off! This time, the ho's entire head was bowed down so that no one could see her face.

"She's really taking this hard," the ho Wendy Testaburger remarked from nearby, several others nodding their heads in agreement.

Sharp as always, hippie ho. Cartman grimaced to himself. Even now after all these years, that girl could still garner attention to herself.

"She looks so delicate up there, like she could break down at any second," someone else Cartman didn't care to look at mentioned.

She looks so delicate up there, about to break down, oh, he could just vomit! How long was this thing supposed to take?

"A-and I know…that if she were still here…that b—I mean Bonnie, she would…she would want to say…ah ho ho ho—" oh great, she was crying! For a second, though, it sounded like she was laughing. Eh, probably just a trick of the ears. Wouldn't be the first time Cartman misunderstood something, not that he would admit that he could misunderstand something in the first place.

"The poor thing, she looks dreadful!" Wendy said.

"Maybe we should let her leave, to composer herself," Bebe Stevens suggested, cooler looking than ever. Cartman couldn't place his finger on it but Bebe was so cool right now. It was like, she was radiating coolness and that coolness grew in intensity whenever he looked at her chest…her bouncy…chest…so very…bouncy…

Where was he again? The ah ta was so mesmerizing—

Bebe turned away, her cleavage disappearing from his sight and breaking whatever spell that had been cast on him.

—what was so mesmerizing about Bebe again? Suddenly her coolness went away.

There was some commotion where their speaker was and Cartman redirected his gaze towards it and saw that Wendy was indeed taking action and having what's her name leave to compose herself. "This is a very sad time for us all," Wendy spoke into the microphone. "Here we are, getting together again after ten years and it has to start with something so sad happening. So, in the memory of Bonnie, let's make this a reunion we'll never forget. What d'ya say?"

The doors to the gymnasium slammed opened and Cartman swore to himself. Damn it, whoever did that had taken his idea for a grand entrance! He would have done it too except he had arrived early. Hold on a sec, was that who he thought it was?

"Sorry I'm late guys!" came the deep and overly-enthused voice of a douchebag Cartman knew all too well. "Had to take my private jet all the way out here just to make it in time; I hope I haven't missed much. Huh, why does everybody look like their dogs died or something?"

The sound of crickets chirring swallowed up any noise that everyone made.

Those shades just made Stan, that asshole, look even more like a douchebag. What kind of lame-o wears sunglasses inside a building? Made ya look like a dork, in Cartman's opinion.

After a moment of one-sided discomfort, a brave soul managed to speak up. "Stan? We were in the middle of…of a eulogy," Kyle spoke up. Did he say a brave soul earlier? That needed to be corrected because there was no way Jews could be brave souls.

"Yeah Stan! Learn some tact!" Cartman bellowed out into the silence because everyone needed to hear his voice at least once tonight. Since everyone was being so Goddamn quiet, that just made it easier.

"You mean someone actually died?" Stan frowned as he took as his shades, the action resembling something you'd see in a movie. Pfft, poser. "Who was it?"

"Bonnie Snyder," Kyle said as he finally emerged from the crowd of South Park alumni so that he could face his gay "super best friend" and did Cartman mention that that was so gay? What kind of self-respecting straight man would say their best friend was their super best friend? That was…that was just so gay!

"Never heard of her," Stan said in reply.

"Stan…" Wendy spoke up from in front, her voice carrying through the speakers thanks to the microphone. "You…you are the limit."

"Thanks," Stan said cheerfully. "Now how about we get things going?"

Now, Cartman was not prone to saying such things but insensitivity, thy name is Stan Marsh. Usually, that was his crown but he was willing to share it. See how generous he could be?

At first, no one did anything, stuck in offended mode and unable to get those sticks out of their self-righteous asses. At least in some respect, Cartman could agree with getting things going. He hated funerals (unless he was being given something in the will), hated boring ass eulogies, and absolutely hated not being in the center of attention. Right now, all three of those things were happening. Guess like he was going to have to correct it.

"You know what, he's right," Cartman said out loud. "We can't dwell on things we can't change. Let's put the past behind us and have some fun tonight. What d'ya say?"

Slowly but surely, there were some mumbled assents. A lot were "what else is there to dos" but it was the fact that it was because of Cartman that the attitude in the room was changing. It wasn't Wendy, it wasn't Kyle, it wasn't even Stan who came in all insensitive-like. It was him, Eric Cartman.

Finally, it was time to get his groove on.

Turning to the nearest person who he forced into listening to him, Cartman said, "Hey, I ever tell you that I went to the moon?"

* * *

Author's Note: The scene with Bonnie, Wolf, and Jay was actually something I wanted to save for later. Like a chapter or two later. But this chapter was becoming a bit short and I felt like I wanted to add something to it. Thus this scene was a big plot-driven one. Now are you guys starting to figure the whole "what would your character sell their soul for" item in the OC submission form was for? I actually have a few more ideas for it so don't expect it to be disappearing any time soon. And to **PinkParka**_**, **_remember when I said Bonnie would still have a role in this one? Goes to show that not even death will keep these characters from playing their parts.

And expect there to be some death, maybe a lot of it, and in gory detail. This is South Park. Everything is exaggerated.

Now, this is the last chance for OC submissions. To people who have submitted for other stories, this is your last chance to tell me I have permission to use your character again. For those who haven't submitted, go back to the first chapter and check out the submission form at the bottom. If you would like to add anything to your character, change something, whatever, do it now because after this, it's set in stone. There are still a couple other OCs to introduce so for those who haven't had their submitted character show up, don't fret.

Brittany Love: **TheIceCreamAndCookie**


	5. High School Reunion, Not Musical

Author's Note: Alright, no more OCs folks. I fear I'm already pressing my threshold with the number so far but it's always been an interesting challenge juggling plotlines and characters. I believe there is one more submitted OC to reveal after this chapter but right now I pretty much have down what I want to do with the characters I have now. As for now, boring exposition about the characters, mostly dialogue so if you're looking for anything that's going to propel the main plot along, you'll have to wait for the next chapter where we continue with more of the reunion. Just so much here that I decided to split it into two chapters. There are a couple references to OCs I've used in previous stories; see if you can't spot them. We'll make it a game even; whoever can guess both of the characters gets a chapter dedication next chapter. Word of warning/advice, you might want to read _Stranger in those Homicidal Eyes_, _Fiends_, and maybe _Malicious Motives_ to figure out just who these OCs are. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

High School Reunion, Not Musical

Now, Kyle had heard of Stan's exodus to New York but everything that he had learned of it sounded a lot more like rumors than actual facts. So now, ten years after graduation and the two members of South Park's most famous non-romantic pair had reunited and Kyle was starting to see that some of these ambiguous rumors held some truth to them.

A lot of truth, in fact.

Stan…had changed. In more ways than one. The suit his best friend wore was expensive, he could tell that from just one look at it. He wouldn't be surprised if the garments were worth more than his monthly salary. And that's not including those shoes that were so polished that he could see his reflection in them and he was literally five feet away.

Stan was right now talking with Kenny, their town's new mechanic, and all his dark-haired friend was talking about was his rise into financial stardom. "And so, I said to him that we gotta sell this crap right now 'cause in a week, they'd be worthless. So, the next day, they finally listened to me and everybody else was pointing fingers at the firm and laughing at us but then the end of the week comes and boom! Who's the stupid ones now? They all thought those bonds were gonna skyrocket and make them rich but instead, half of them went to the poorhouse. Heh heh."

Didn't Stan realize that half the people here were one step away from the poorhouse? Stan was tactless when they were younger but now…this was a whole new level here.

Beside him, Damien patted him on the back in a way to comfort him. Kyle didn't have to look at the Antichrist to know that he was watching all this with a small, amused smile on his face that expressed nothing but serenity. Kyle would not ask what the Mayor saw; whatever it was that Damien could see was something Kyle's mortal eyes were not privy to and in a way that's how he liked it. Ignorance was bliss, after all.

"That sounds great, Stan," Kenny said and it was obvious that he was not comfortable. Kyle knew how hard it was to get Kenny to look out of his element as the blond was one of those guys who, no matter the situation, could take whatever was thrown at him and give back as good as he got. "Things—"

"Wait, wait, I'm not done yet," Stan interrupted, already disregarding what the mechanic was about to say. "Now, I'm being called up to the big guy's office, the boss himself, and—"

"That was rude Stan," Kyle interrupted his best friend, already knowing that he himself was being a hypocrite by doing so. "Kenny was trying to say something."

"It's okay Kyle," Kenny said, holding a hand up as if to try and ward away a brewing conflict. "Stan just…has a lot to say. I can wait."

"Don't let him walk all over you," Kyle admonished his friend.

"Whoa, what crawled up your ass," Stan commented, raising an eyebrow at him. "I was talking here. Aren't you being the rude one?"

Kyle frowned. "Kenny was talking first and then you interrupted him. If there was anyone being rude first, it was you."

"Kyle, it's not a big deal," Kenny said.

"Still trying to be selfless?" Damien asked with a chuckle.

"Who is this guy?" Stan demanded before Kenny could respond, gesturing towards Damien. "And why's he hanging all over you Kyle?"

"Stan, you can't tell me that you don't recognize Damien," Kyle deadpanned.

"That guy who was all over you during high school? Didn't you break up with him or something?" Stan asked. Taking a good look at the man beside him, Stan added, "And didn't he have those creepy eyes? You know, all red and shit? This guy's just looks like shit."

"Red eyes scare away potential voters," Kyle said dully. "They're contact lens."

"And your voice," Stan continued. "The Damien I knew sounded like he hadn't hit puberty yet."

"You just love digging your own grave, don't you?" Damien asked rhetorically, using his normal high pitched voice instead of his "Batman" voice.

"I ain't diggin' a thing," Stan said. "Who are you supposed to be then?"

"I'm the Mayor," Damien replied. "Would you like to further insult me?"

"You got that dead end job?" Stan asked in reply.

"The office of the mayor is not a dead end job," Kyle stated.

"What about the old one? McDaniels?" Stan asked.

"She's in the Colorado legislature," Kyle answered.

Stan blinked at him. "No way. You're shitting me."

"It's an elected office that usually serves as a launching point for many a politician's career," Kyle said.

"Kind of like that Sarah Palin lady when she became mayor of Alaska," Stan said.

For a second, Kyle could have sworn he felt a few brain cells die. Did Stan just…did Stan really just say that? Oh God, he just felt another few scream in painful agony!

"Yeah. Kinda like that Sarah Palin lady," Kenny said slowly.

Before the moment could become further awkward, someone decided to intervene. "Hey lame-o fags," Cartman greeted as he came up to them. Then as if just noticing Stan, "Why hello there Stan! Decided to come down from on high to mingle with the peasants? I know just how that feels. I mean, it's tiring being one of the richest guys in the world and racing your two-hundred thousand dollar yacht across the Atlantic Ocean."

And like that, the fabulous foursome had reunited for the first time in ten years. That wasn't including the tagalong

"You have a yacht too?" Stan asked brightly. "What do you call her?"

Cartman didn't miss a beat. "I call her the…um…U.S.S. Road Warrior. Yeah, decided to name her after my all-time hero, Mel Gibson."

"What do you keep it? What marina?" Stan asked.

"Marina? Why would I have to keep my yacht in a marina?" Cartman frowned.

"Unless you have a boathouse somewhere, that's where you keep a yacht," Stan explained in a tone of voice that implied _didn't you know that?_

"I…I knew that!" Cartman defended.

"Don't listen to him; fat boy's just a plumber," Kenny said.

"Don't believe whatever this poser says," Cartman said, glaring at Kenny. "He's jealous at my success."

"You con old women who are too blind to see what a pathetic job you did with their sinks," Kyle stated. Turning to Stan, he added, "I hired him once to fix mine and he just made it worse! Had to call for someone out of town to get it fixed."

"You're a liar and dirty Jew, Kyle!" Cartman accused. "You're just jealous. They're all jealous of me."

"You lost to Damien of all people," Kyle retorted. "You know it's bad when the people would choose the embodiment of all evil and unholiness over you."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Damien smirked at him.

"Now's not the place," Kyle muttered back.

"That's only because you guys cheated! You rigged that election!" Cartman declared. Looking to Stan, "You can't trust Jews to campaign fairly. They're frauds who are only interested in benefiting themselves!"

"Kyle worked on my campaign for prom king and I didn't see any of that stuff," Kenny mentioned innocently.

"That's because you're poor, Kenny," Cartman replied. "You're too innocent to fully appreciate just how despicable Jews are."

"You're poorer that me asshole," Kenny glared.

"You mean he's not rich?" Stan frowned.

"Captain Obvious to the rescue," Damien commented wryly. "I'm bored Kyle. Let me show you off somewhere else."

Before Kyle could say anything else, the devilish Mayor dragged him away from his old friends though, with the exception of Kenny, Kyle could say that he was not too keen on spending more time around them. He sighed and allowed himself to be dragged around like some kind of living ragdoll.

For some reason, this night was starting to look bleaker.

"Hey Kyle? Kyle? I'm not done talking about how good I've been doing!" Stan called out as he followed after them.

So much bleaker.

* * *

Meanwhile, back with Kenny and Cartman.

"Good job Kenny! You scared them away!" Cartman exclaimed, glaring at the blond mechanic.

Giving Cartman a look, Kenny said blandly, "Fuck off." Turning on his heel, he ditched the plumber.

"Oh yeah? Well…well screw you too poor boy!" Cartman shouted after him. Looking around at the various people who were staring at him, Cartman crossed his arms in an attempt to look cool. "Yeah, those guys are so jealous of me."

* * *

Now, Craig hadn't been sure before but now he was closer to being sure about this. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to bring his wife along to this reunion thing. The only reason why he had decided to go in the first place was because it's what nice and boring people did and that's just how Craig liked things.

Nice. And boring.

Both of those things could not be used in the same sentence with his wife. Just like she was at home or at whatever temporary job she managed to get, Brianna was miserable. It was probably due to Cartman running around telling everybody how successful he was and Brianna believing every lie that came out of that mouth even though she _knew_ that he was a plumber.

Guess she was going to use anything to try and bash it over his head on how miserable she was.

But wait, it got even worse when he managed to find and greet Clyde and Token. Clyde, he found out, was involved with the shoe store that his dad owned and was being groomed to take it over one day but it was Token that was the kicker. Token, unsurprisingly, had a big time job at NBC where he decided the lineup of shows that the network would show. A freaking TV exec. The kicker came in when Brianna found out and it was her verbal foot that was kicking him.

"Why couldn't you be as ambition as him!" Brianna demanded, glaring at him while gesturing to Token.

"Wow. That's some keeper of a wife," Token remarked, raising an eyebrow at him. Yeah, Craig caught the sarcasm there.

"I know! Would you take me?" Brianna asked, trying to give him a sad excuse for puppy dog eyes.

"Sorry, I'm seeing someone," Token excused himself, looking uncomfortable.

"Why is it that all the good ones are taken?" Brianna bemoaned.

"I wouldn't mind," Clyde said, looking her up and down and appreciating her figure.

Brianna didn't look the faintest bit amused by such a comment coming from Clyde.

"Why don't you go get something to drink? Maybe eat?" Craig suggested to her.

"Eat? Do you want me to get fat or something?" Brianna glared at him. "You'd like that wouldn't you? You'd like it if I ballooned to the size of a whale and forever destroy any chances I had of getting back into the Olympics! You want nothing more than to drag me down to your level of mediocrity! That's what it's always been about! Are you so insecure of a woman with more earning power or something? Is that it?"

"I just thought you might want to get something to drink," Craig stated, not in the least bit perturbed. He was used to these kinds of outbursts.

"Oh I'll get something to drink alright. Maybe it'll be something I can drown all my misery in!" Brianna spat as she stomped away.

"Wow. She's a psycho," Clyde said, not taking his eyes off her. "Hot too but a psycho."

"You sure know how to pick them," Token agreed. "So how'd you…?"

"I did it on a whim," Craig shrugged, not in the least bit ashamed of the fact. "It was community college and things can get pretty crazy there."

"Maybe you ought to not humor your whims," Token advised. "You know, I bet that if I got some footage of her, I could show it to some guys at the studio and they'd think it was the next reality TV hit."

"Please don't. I like watching TV, not being on it," Craig said. After a second's pause, "And I'm camera shy."

"Well, I know you're good with a camera," Token said. "If you need a job, I could hook you up."

"I have one, thank you," Craig said. "I'm a manager at the grocery store and I'm well on my way up the ladder there. Thanks though."

"Ah, the nice and boring life. That's so you," Token said without a hint of malice in his voice. Totally sincere. What, hard to belief that anybody could say something without it being sarcastic? Man, you guys are so pessimistic.

"Hey dudes, check that out," Clyde cut in, his arm making it physical as it cut right between Craig and Token, a finger pointing towards something in the room.

Craig stared neutrally at Clyde's arm for a second, as if wondering what it was doing in front of him, before let his eyes follow the limb towards where it was directing. And…it was some guy in a hoodie with a studded leather belt and spiked bracelets on his wrists.

"Looks like one of the Goth kids," Craig said, his voice showing neither curiosity nor annoyance.

"No, I don't think he was one of them," Token said, his eyes narrowed in thought. "You know, I think there was someone else who dressed like them but wasn't one of them. I think it was because he was too dark even for those guys."

"I just want to know what he's doing here," Clyde said. "He's just…sticking out."

"We're adults Clyde, not immature teenagers anymore," Craig said. "Why don't you act like it?"

"I don't know. I just…I feel young again, somewhat," Clyde shrugged. "I haven't seen you guys in a while and I thought it would be like old times."

"Craig's right, we're mature adults now," Token said. "And because we're mature adults, why don't we go over there and talk with him? Who knows, we might find out he's a good guy."

Craig shrugged, not having anything to say about that. And so, he followed after Token, Clyde following after him and looking lost like he used to be back in high school. It was Token who made first contact and Craig watched as his African American friend held up a hand to shake in greeting.

"Haven't seen you around, Token Black," Token greeted while introducing himself.

The guy in the black hoodie looked them up and down, giving them a bland look. "I know who you are. That's Craig Tucker and Clyde Donovan behind you."

Craig raised an eyebrow at that. So this guy knew who they were?

Before any of them could say anything to that, the informally dressed guy took Token's hand and shook it firmly. "Dillan Teigs. Been in your class since elementary. No one paid any attention and I didn't really care. That's why you don't know me."

"So is it true you were too dark for the Goth kids?" Clyde asked tactlessly.

"Clyde!" Token admonished. Looking towards Dillan, he said apologetically, "I'm sorry about him. Sometimes…he just speaks before he thinks."

"S'all right," Dillan shrugged. "I admit it; I spooked them. They were uncomfortable with me so I decided not to stick around them. Also they seemed to have this fixation on this one guy who didn't speak much and drew a lot. I just didn't fit in; it's as simple as that."

"That's a very honest statement. You don't hear those a lot," Craig commented, hands in his pockets.

"Why bother with bullshit? We're only on this earth for so long until we're torn away from it," Dillan shrugged. "Dancing around things, trying to be polite and nice, waste of time I say. We could be doing better things, like living."

"That's a bit…bleak?" Token said, blinking at Dillan.

"Sorry, didn't mean to ruin the mood like that. Kinda a habit," Dillan explained. "Again with being honest, I wasn't going to come but my housemate found out about it and kicked me out of my house. Figured why not after he locked me out. Had a free night from work and might as well see how everyone from school was doing."

"Sounds like what I was going to do…except I decided to come anyway without being kicked out," Craig said.

"That right?" Dillan said tonelessly, just speaking just to speak.

Kind of like when—

"What's up with your cross?" Clyde asked curiously, interrupting Craig's thoughts. He hadn't noticed it before but yeah, Dillan was wearing this necklace with a small cross on it. The thing was the cross was upside down. That didn't seem right to the practicing, Sunday-only Christian. Of course, Clyde chose at that time to speak his thoughts, "Isn't it the wrong way?"

Dillan tilted his head downwards to look at said piece of jewelry. "No, it's right."

"You sure man? Maybe the jeweler got it wrong," Token said.

"Or is it one of those inverted things where whenever you look down at it, the cross faces you the right way but looks wrong to the rest of us?" Craig suggested.

"No and no," Dillan answered.

"So if it isn't some mistake or that weird inverted stuff Craig mentioned, then why is it upside down?" Clyde asked.

"Well Clyde, the only people who are symbolized by an inverted cross are Satanists," Token pointed out.

"Guilty," Dillan said.

Craig was sure that there were more words on the tip of Token's tongue but his friend was stumbling over them after Dillan's unexpected admission. Eventually, Token managed to gasp out, "What?"

"It's not like it's been a secret," Dillan said, eyes gazing up towards the ceiling. "I never tried to hide it or anything. Don't know why you're surprised by it."

Initial shock wearing off, Craig was totally indifferent to it. Okay, so being a Satanist was nothing close to being nice and boring, which just so happened to be the way he liked things. Yet this Satanist wasn't doing anything weird like _some_ people around here, he won't name names. If anything, he seemed like a very nice guy. A very normal guy. There had yet to be any kind of emergency occurring or anything.

"I was supposedly outed back in elementary by that website, Eaves-something," Dillan continued. "I didn't consider it anything big; I was just dabbling back then. But it grew on me and well, here I am."

"Yeah…I…uh…I gotta use the confession—I mean bathroom," Clyde said hurriedly, trying to excuse himself. Token excused himself more effectively and took off, leaving Craig alone with the admitted Satanist.

Shrugging at his friends' typical and all too predictable reactions, he turned back towards Dillan and asked, "So what do you think of the Broncos' chances next season?"

* * *

Brianna wasn't stupid. She knew when she was being pushed to a side, knew when she wasn't wanted. Liked she'd ever given anyone the pleasure of a moment's peace if she was miserable. She was just feeling generous tonight, that was all. Now that she had seen just how well some of Craig's friends from high school were doing, she could use it as ammunition to demand he do more with his life than be some manager at a grocery store.

She refused to let her dreams of living the high life escape her. Why should she lower herself to living as one of these hicks who populated this town anyway? She had always been destined her greatness, her talent in swimming being a sign, proof even, of this.

She was not fated to remain at the bottom of the barrel. Some way or another, she would rise from this and seize the life that she knew was just waiting for her to claim. But she was tired of waiting for it to fall in her lap.

How could she finally get her hands on that life, though? She was stuck in a place from which she could find no out and she was trapped with Craig, the guy who was satisfied with practically anything. No ambitions there whatsoever. And no matter how much she tried, she could never get him to get off his ass and do something about making her dreams come true.

What could she do?

"Excuse me? Just let me reach around you…"

Brianna glared at the wavy-haired blonde that she had been seeing around the place. She hadn't bothered to learn her name and didn't care what it was. Whoever it was, she was invading her personal space!

"Do you mind?" she glared.

"Look, I'm just trying to get something to drink," the blonde said.

"You're bothering me," Brianna said, not moving and continuing to glare at this bitch who had dared to rear her ugly self into her life.

"I'm not trying to," the blonde said. Wow, she must think she was all that just because she had big tits. Yeah, she could see the bitch's rack from here. Quite a revealing dress eh? Dirty little slut—whoa, whoa! Was that a tattoo? On her wrist? In plain sight! What were the words "No Lies" supposed to mean? "But you are standing right there…"

"I'm not going anywhere," Brianna stated.

The blonde stared at her incredulously then snorted. Oh, like that got all the guys falling over her. Pfft. "Whatever lady. I don't know what Craig sees in you."

Brianna was the one who had the incredulous look on her face as she watched the blonde walk away. She…knew Craig? Was that bastard cheating on her? Behind her back?! Oh, it would figure. Why was she so surprised?

She felt a presence behind her and she gritted her teeth, having a good idea of just who it was. If Craig thought for a minute she was going to let this go, he was—

That wasn't Craig.

Yeah, he had the same hair color as Craig but that was it. Jesus Christ, he was handsome. All the annoyance she had earlier was gone, as if it had never been there. This person, his marble pale skin and intense brown eyes that she could have sworn she saw red streaks in, it was causing her to feel this…this intensity inside of her. She swallowed, her throat dry for some unknown reason.

This person, this guy, she could have sworn she saw him from somewhere…that's right! He was the guy from the commercials! Those election commercials! He was the mayor! The MAYOR! Now _there_ was a guy who was going places! And it didn't hurt that he was fucking hot!

Was…was she feeling flustered? She was! She hadn't felt like this in a long, long time! Not since…well, since she first met Craig, actually. And speaking of Craig, hadn't he cheated on her with that blonde bimbo from before? Oh, that was making her blood boil…but then this guy, the mayor, was doing the same thing to her except in a more likeable way.

"Excuse me," the mayor said, the words, for some reason, sounding foreign on his tongue, as if he rarely used those words together.

She only nodded dumbly and took a step to a side, allowing him access to a punch bowl that she had been standing in front of this entire time.

Without another word, the mayor was filling up a red plastic cup with the substance and Brianna felt that she needed to say something, anything, to get his attention back on her. She didn't like it when he wasn't looking at her…

"Um, hi. Brianna Bow—I mean Tucker. Brianna Tucker," she introduced herself, awkwardly, holding out a hand for the mayor to shake and then cursing herself inwardly because of it.

"Uh huh," the mayor grunted, eyes flickering up at her and then away without interest.

Now that was a reaction that was new to her. Before, whenever most people looked at her for the first time, they couldn't take their eyes off her. This went double for men. Especially men. And yet this one didn't seem to be affected by her appearance at all. Was there something wrong with her? Did the dress she decided to wear tonight not match with her earrings?

Or maybe he was a hard person to impress? That had to be it! So he had high standards, huh? Now that was something to be treasured in a guy and it was something that made her want him more. She was the type of person who could fulfill high standards without trying! She was just out of her element right now, that was all. She hadn't expected to meet anyone like him in a place like this, let her tell you.

"I didn't get your name…" she hazard, hoping to draw him into a preferably deep conversation.

"You don't…? That's new," the mayor chuckled. "I had thought everyone in town knew my name by now. It was up all over the place but you get surprised every once in a while. Damien Achristos. Mayor Damien Achristos."

She had no idea what was up with that last name but it was turning her on! Foreign names, they were so sexy!

"I didn't vote last time but next election I'll be sure to vote for you!" she stated, gazing at him dreamily.

"I thank you for your support," _Damien Achristos_ said.

He was such a man of few words. She liked it. She liked it a lot.

It took her a moment to realize that Damien was leaving and alarms were sounding off in her head. She couldn't let him leave, not now! Especially not when she hadn't at least impressed him in some way so that he would remember her!

"Is there a Mrs. Achristos?" she asked after him, taking a few steps to catch up with him.

Those intense eyes…was there more red in them? …well, those eyes were peering at her and there was a tug of his lips upwards, as if he was amused by something. His eyes flickered downward then back up and she was sure there was a hint of a smirk there…

"You've already been taken, Mrs. Tucker," Damien said. "You are tempting, I'll admit it, but I am currently in pursuit of someone else. I do hope I still have your support for my reelection."

"Of course," she said. It was an automatic response; she hadn't heard anything after the words "in pursuit of someone else." So he was in the market for a spouse, hmm? And he already had his eye on someone.

That would have to change, wouldn't it? She couldn't lose him, not now, not after spending so long in a miserable life with _Craig_. Even as Damien was taking his leave, Brianna was already thinking up of ways to land this catch of a man. She'd have to get rid of going-nowhere-Craig at some point but definitely not before she managed to make love with Damien. She still owed Craig one for daring to cheat on her with that slutty bimbo from before.

Damien Achristos…you were hers. Now to make you enlightened to that fact.

* * *

"There, I mingled with one of my constituents. Happy?" Damien drawled out as he handed the cup of punch to Kyle.

"Don't say it like this is something you're going out of your way to do," Kyle frowned at him.

"But that's what I was doing," Damien whined. His eyes darted to a side for a second, keeping track of Stan who was busy wandering around, still searching for them. A little subtle use of his powers and that clingy douche had lost them. Good. That meant he had Kyle all to himself now.

"I'd asked you how old you are but you would just give me an unbelievably high number," Kyle said. "Just act more like an adult when you're in public. Remember, you still need us mortals to get you all the way into the presidency."

"Hopefully you come with me all the way," Damien said, staring down intently into the Jew's eyes.

"We'll have to see about that," Kyle said uncomfortably. "Also, act like a self-assured heterosexual. This is definitely not the place to be acting—"

"Gay? You worry too much," Damien cooed at him. "So long as I am mayor, there are going to be some changes around here."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Kyle grunted.

* * *

The atmosphere was so much more relaxed when Brittany returned. Seeing everyone just mingling and catching up with one another, Brittany felt more comfortable and began her own mingling and catching up. Naturally, some of the first people she spoke with her former LESBIAN members. She recalled having some fun times with these grown up women and it was with no little pleasure that she informed them of where her career was taking her.

Of course, there was the constant mentioning of Bonnie and quite a few former LESBIANs remarking that they didn't know they were close. They recalled all too well just how little they did get along but Brittany sucked it up and went with it.

All the while, she was constantly reminded of why she didn't like Wendy. Bebe too. It seemed liked that the one thing that hadn't changed was the close association between those two and if Wendy wanted to do something, Bebe would always be the first to back her up.

She found some support from a former LESBIAN, Alice Valentine. Alice hadn't had the largest presence back when LESBIAN was still an operating group and while Alice had parted from it when it broke up without a whimper, it seemed like that she went on to bigger and better things.

"Fashion? You mean like Gucci and Prada and all that?" Brittany asked, eyes wide.

"Yep, model all that and more. Just got back from Paris when I got the invite," Alice said proudly.

Looking her up and down, Brittany had to admit that Alice certainly had the looks and the body for it. Skinny but not unhealthily so, creamy skin that looked good enough to eat, perky breasts, and let's not forget her long, wavy blonde hair and baby blue eyes that just held a life to them…

"Gotta say, you certainly look the part," Brittany said.

"I'll admit it, I'm just surprised as you are," Alice said. "I had never thought about modeling as a career. I can tell you, though, what got me into it. I saw a picture of this one model in this Victoria's Secret magazine and let me tell you, she was fucking _gorgeous_. I swear, I'd go gay for her in a second. A lot of other women I know would do the same. But then I found out that she had died a few years earlier when her house burned down. I think her name was Sybil something. Began with a C…I think."

"That sounds familiar," Brittany said.

"Well, some politicians up in Washington got together and made a national holiday for her, a day of mourning, believe it or not," Alice continued. "For some reason, I see a lot of men crying on that day. Women too."

"So are you enjoying it?" Brittany asked.

"Oh yeah. More than I thought I would," Alice answered. "When I'm not doing stuff for Louis Vuitton, I sometimes do some plain old modeling on the side, trying to get in touch with my idol and all. Haven't gone to do the stuff she did, though, but maybe someday, if I feel comfortable enough. So what about you Brittany? What are you doing?"

"Washington Post, got a job there as a journalist," Brittany bragged.

"You're a journalist? Hey, wanna do a piece on me?" Alice suggested slyly.

"Only if the editor will let me," Brittany chuckled. "Right now we're covering midterm campaigns and everybody who's running. And then there's all the other scandals, world events, and that stuff. But I'll see if I can't run your name passed the guys who do the life section. I think that's where all fashion news goes."

"I was kidding but free press? Sign me up!" Alice joked.

"Um, excuse me?"

The two young women paused at the sound of the new voice. They hadn't heard it before and simultaneously turned to whoever had spoken.

What they found was an African American guy with one of the largest afros either of them had ever seen. Everything else about him was casual in comparison from the Yankee's cap he held clutched in one hand and the blue jeans covering his legs.

However, his face was one that they recognized and why shouldn't they have? It was one they had seen on various CDs and on various shows where he was interviewed and his products marketed.

It was none other than one of the newest rapping sensations to hit the nation, Nathan Wilkes.

And right now, instead of seeing the confident, devil-may-care music entrepreneur that they were used to see on TV and hearing on the radio, this guy was shifting his weight from side to side, his dark eyes looking around and coming back to them just as quickly, as if he was looking for someone.

Had they not recognized his face…but then what the hell was someone like him doing in South Park for a high school reunion? Wasn't this only for people who graduated here when they did? Because Brittany was sure she would have remembered someone like this in their graduating class.

"Is there something you see that you ladies like?" the rapper asked when neither woman said anything and there was that confident grin that both had seen him with whenever he was introduced on the late night talk shows.

"Are you sure you're supposed to be here?" Brittany blurted out. "This is for 2012 graduates of South Park High."

"I know. I graduated from here too," Nathan said, stuffing his hands in his pockets while taking another look at the prettied up gymnasium.

"When?" Alice asked.

"Same year as you, 2012," Nathan said.

"From this school?" Alice pressed.

"Yeah. I got the invite like everybody else I think," Nathan shrugged.

"How come I don't remember you?" Brittany asked, her eyes narrowing. She was beginning to think that they were on one of those Punk'd shows or whatever they were called and that lameass Ashton Kutcher was going to come out at any moment or something.

"Eh, I was very quiet back then," Nathan answered. "Didn't do much and kinda stayed off to the side. Um, do you know if Charlie White's here?"

"Charlie White? Who's he?" Brittany asked, not recalling the name.

"It's a she, her first name's Charlotte. I just thought you'd remember her as Charlie," Nathan said. When the two young women still showed no comprehension, he elaborated. "She hung around that psychopath Bain. Everyone called them husband and wife."

Okay, that did more than ring a bell.

"Oh!" Brittany gasped out in recognition. "That's right, Charlie! Wow, I forgot about her. And him. Oy. Yeah, yeah, I remember those two. I do not know what she saw in that creep."

"Neither do I," Nathan muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Alice asked, expression that the two of them had not heard him.

"Have either of you seen her around?" Nathan asked.

Looking around and not finding anyone who resembled the infamous tomboy, Brittany shrugged and suggested, "You might try asking Wendy, Testaburger, not Wendy 2, if she sent her an invite."

"Thanks," Nathan said, excusing himself as he walked by the two of them. Pausing for a sec, he turned back towards her and added, "That was a nice eulogy earlier. I had no idea you were that close with Bonnie."

Son of a…

* * *

Gary was concerned. It was not real often that he actually felt that way despite using the word a lot when speaking with youngsters who were going through tough times but right now he could genuinely say that he was concerned.

Specifically, he was concerned with Kyra who stood beside him. He stood close enough so that she could recognize his presence without having to look at him and he knew she was going to need the support.

The way Stan was wandering around and the way he was speaking, talking about his successes and the tone he used when he spoke of them, it did not bode well in his opinion. Even now, he was still not aware of what had occurred between Kyra and Stan but right now he was seeing the fallout from it in full color.

Beside him, he could feel that Kyra was stressed out. She had not been expecting to see her high school sweetheart, especially not in this way. He had no idea what she had been expecting but whatever it was, it wasn't anything like what reality had produced.

"How are you doing?" he asked her, not taking his eyes off the figure of the richly-dressed Stan.

"You want the short or long version?" Kyra asked.

"Because of where we are, the short version," Gary answered.

"I have absolutely no fucking idea how I feel," Kyra said, Gary wincing at the swear.

Taking his eyes off Stan, he looked towards her and saw just how distressed she was. "How about we go? Wendy's got a bunch of stuff planned for the weekend; we'll see a bunch of these guys there I'll bet."

Looking up at him, her eyes reflecting how torn up she was, Kyra asked hesitantly, "Can we?"

"Yeah, this way," Gary nodded his head towards one of the exits.

It was just as Gary was leading Kyra towards the nearest entrance that the law of Murphy decided to intervene and before either of them were halfway to salvation, take a guess who they ran into?

"Can you be careful? You almost scuffed up my shoes! Those things are worth more than your lives," Stan stated, eyeing the two disgruntledly.

"You can't be serious. You don't recognize either of us?" Gary asked incredulously.

Stan blinked and stared at them blankly. "Should I?" he asked.

"Gary," Gary stated his name. "You knew me as the Mormon guy?"

"Oh yeah, I remember you!" Stan exclaimed then eyed him warily. "You're not going to tell me to suck your balls again, are you?"

"With the way you're treating us, I think I ought to," Gary said.

"Us?" Stan asked and then his eyes were drawn to Kyra who kept her eyes on the floor. It took a moment of staring and it was starting to get really comfortable but then Stan snapped his fingers as it came to him. "Kyra! Wow, I haven't seen you in a long time! How's it going?"

"You forgot about me again, didn't you?" Kyra asked bitterly.

Stan blinked, surprised at the acid in her tone. "Forgot? How could I…well things were a bit of a blur for a while and then I was rescuing the economy from disaster so some things might have…slipped my…mind…"

"Let me guess, you don't remember that night you left school, right?" Kyra said.

"Of course I do! I…" Stan trailed off and it became obvious that Kyra was correct in her assumption. "Just give me a sec! Now what was it?"

"No, no, you don't need to remember," Kyra said. "Everything's going so well with you, I wouldn't want to intrude on the happy life you've found for yourself."

"Did I do something wrong?" Stan asked, eyes wide with honesty.

"Let's just call it quits Stan. Officially, since you've already done so," Kyra said.

"Er…" Stan looked hesitant yet unable to argue since he was way behind in this conversation.

"Come on Gary," Kyra said and she took the lead as she left Stan behind. Gary, for once, did not spare a look at the other male as he followed after his friend.

That hadn't been as explosive as he had thought it was going to be. He had been sure there would have been raised voices, a lot of spectators, and maybe some kind of drama as old wounds were reopened and lanced. But that had been generally calm, cool, and overall anticlimactic.

As the warming air of the outdoors greeted them, Kyra suddenly said, "Gary. I think I made up my mind about something."

Gary looked at her, a bit lost for a second but figuring out quickly what she meant. "If you're sure…you know I'll back you with whatever you want to do."

"Thank you Gary. You've been a true friend," Kyra said.

Was it him or was that a tear trailing down her cheek?

* * *

Stan was confused, not that that was a new thing for him. He had no idea what had just happened and so had let it happen the way it had. Was he missing something? And why was it that that feeling that he had forgotten something was stronger? Stronger than it ever had been before?

What was he missing? Why was it that Kyra was light years ahead of him? Did it have something to do with the night he left? Was she bitter about it or something? And calling it quits? What was that all about? What was…was…

And then it all came back to him.

He up and leaves, practically eight years and no contact, the fact that he graduated high school with her as his girlfriend after going through so much shit…

_Let's just call it quits Stan._

Oh no. Oh no. OH NO! Fuck!

At least he knew now what it was that he had forgotten.

He had forgotten Kyra!

Why did he feel like a shitty person all of a sudden?

* * *

Alice Valentine: **MissSouthPark . RAWR**

Nathan Wilkes: **Maximum Vincente Ride**


	6. Not All Creeps Look Like Creeps

Author's Note: Sorry this took a while but life got in the way. Three weeks, that's too long to deprive you all and once again, I'm sorry. However, I am not one of those authors who start something and then stops halfway through the story and never updates. I _always_ finish a story; just check out all the ones I've written before, each of them complete. Anyway, there's still one more OC to feature but that's not until next chapter. For this one, a little development of those that are here, some plot development, and a few references to past OCs. Anyone care to guess them all? Anyway, enough of the rambling, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Not All Creeps Look Like Creeps

Melanie couldn't help it as tears leaked down her cheeks only to be absorbed by the cotton handkerchief she held in one of her hands.

"_I'm so cold…"_

"_Don't let go…please don't let go!"_

It was one of her favorite parts, truly it was. It was just so romantic yet so sad yet so warm yet so tragic…

Why did he always have to die? No matter how many times she watched, hoping that he would live, he would always die.

There was a sniffle from beside her and she nudged over a box of Kleenex which was accepted gratefully as the sound of someone blowing their nose ripped through the morose atmosphere. The atmosphere immediately returned because it was just so sad and tragic and why did he always have to die?

"Don't let go," she whispered to herself. "Don't let go!"

"_I'm sorry…but it seems like this was a one way ticket babe…so cold…"_

"_Don't you let go Jack whatever your last name is! Don't you ever let go!"_

A sob from beside her echoed her sentiments exactly.

"_It's freezing…don't think I'll last…much…longer…"_

"_Then can you sing me a song? For old times' sake?"_

"This part always gets me," Flower, or Conner, said as he sniffed.

Melanie swallowed, hoping to contain her own sadness. This wasn't the typical movie she liked to watch but there was always something about it that whenever it was on, she could never stop herself from watching. She liked the rom-com or occasional action flick and to be reasonable, this one started sorta like a rom-com but then, it just became so beautiful and then that iceberg and this happens…

Sometimes she was a glutton for punishment, she could admit it. Of course she had to bring someone down with her which explained why her neighbor was sitting beside her and watching with her.

"_I'm so sorry miss but he didn't make it."_

"_But he never let go! He never let go-o-o-o-o!"_

It was just so sad.

"_And that concludes _Big Gay Al's Big, Gay, Titanic, Love Boat_. Stay tuned for _Puberty vs. Adolescents_ next on Bravo!"_

Just so sad.

"I don't understand, why does he always have to die?" Flower cried, on the verge of tears and his voice colored with both the sounds of suppressed sadness and a Russian accent that was trying to leak out.

"It's what this movie does, it always sucks you in with the rom-com then wham! Hits you with the tragedy. Gets me every time," Melanie practically wailed, struggling to get her emotions in check. "Why do I torture myself so?"

"Must be…the same reason as me," Flower answered. Turning towards her neighbor, Melanie noticed that he was checking the time to see how late it was. In her frame of mind, she couldn't let him go, not when she felt like she could bawl out some more tears. She needed to get it together so that she could come up with another plausible reason for that plumber to come over again.

She was _this_ close to snatching him up. She knew it in her heart that that man would be going places but he needed some direction and someone to focus his energies in the right ways. He could do great things but with the way he was going, all he would amount to was a dead end.

Not if she could help it. She had dreams of living the good life but she was willing to work for it, crushing anyone who got in her way. All Eric Cartman needed was for someone to really set him straight and who better than her?

She was in no way like her neighbor from across the street, Brianna Tucker, who expected everything to fall into her lap. Effort was always required if you wanted to get somewhere.

Once she was somewhere, then she would make other dreams of hers come true from living high to the dream wedding that every girl desires. She had the dress "commissioned" all thanks to Flower being a really, really good tailor. Who said being nice was a waste of time?

But in all honesty, she did like Flower as a friend. It's just…there was something he could do that was really good and she saw a time when she would want that. That was all. That didn't make her a bad person, did it?

"Are you going?" she asked.

"In a bit," Flower admitted. "Is something wrong?"

"I just wanted to know how far along you are with my dress," Melanie replied, flashing a wink at the dressmaker.

"Tell me when the date is and I'll tell you what you want to know," Flower answered.

Melanie blew air through her lips. "No ring yet."

"The day I start on the dress is the day you give me the date," Flower said.

Melanie lowered her eyes and she must have looked sad because Flower looked a bit worried.

"I'm just backed up right now!" he said hastily. "But I made a promise, didn't I? I'll make it! I will!"

"Oh Flower, you're so sweet," Melanie said. It was a shame that Flower swung the other way; Conner was such a sweet guy. Why did all the really good ones have to be either taken or gay? Deciding a change of subject was necessary, she asked, "When's that housemate of yours coming back? He went to that reunion of his, didn't he?"

"I made him go, yeah," Flower said. "Um, Melanie? Do you know if he's…um…well, you know…"

"Single?" she asked innocently.

"Let's go with that, yeah," Flower nodded, his cheeks flushing.

"So far as I know," she shrugged. She really had no idea about the dark young man that lived with Flower and hadn't made the effort to get to know him. There was just something about him that made her shy away from him. "Why? Interested in him?"

"That's…I don't…it's…uh…well…um," Flower stumbled over his words, never able to finally just speak a reply. Looked cute for a bit as he fumbled around.

"I guess there's only one way to find out," she hintingly teased.

"Oh, uh, well, um, yeah, I…yeah…" Flower was still somewhat speechless as he had yet to say anything coherent.

"I'm sure something will work out," Melanie said as she patted his shoulder.

Just as sure as she was that her favorite plumber in the world was going places.

* * *

Sure they had interacted with one another between now and setup but none of that counted. This was the "true" reunion of two far flung friends who had gone their own ways and yet continued to find themselves always coming into contact with one another.

"Wendy! You look so fine and skilled like a boss!"

"Bebe! You're…just like you were in high school only better!"

Yep, two friends who were somewhat inseparable were face-to-face and taking in the overall appearance of one another. Nothing would ever break the friendship these two had, whether it be other friends, other priorities, different clichés, whether or not _Real Housewives_ of pick random city was a good show or not, or anything else along those lines.

Unless it was boys. Or shoes. Or maturity. Or fads. Or Super AIDS. And were boys mentioned?

Regardless, they were best friends in elementary school, good friends in middle school, and just friends in high school, and now here they were, ten years out of high school and full-fledged adults.

What had the other been up to?

Since Bebe was the one who asked first, it was Wendy who had to answer first and she was looking forward to this one indeed. Time to brag. "Just graduated law school and passed the bar," Wendy said proudly, arms crossed in front of her chest triumphantly. "From here it's smooth sailing. What about you? How are things going with you?"

"Can you believe that I'm being picked up by Victoria's Secret? They want me to model for them! Me!" Bebe crowed. "They think that I'm the next Sybil! Me! Bebe Stevens from nowhere land, Colorado!"

Wendy, to say the least, was a bit skeptical about that. Sure, Bebe was beautiful, she could admit that, but…she just wasn't quite in that league. Yeah, everyone was looking for the next Sybil whatever her last name was again, especially after her tragic death. Such a grand career and it literally had to go up in flames.

"That's great," Wendy said.

"Yeah, I mean, I once thought that I wanted to, like, work and be smart so that people would respect me for what I do and not for how I look," Bebe said. "I was so young then that I didn't understand that all male thought processes stopped when they get a glimpse of TNA. They're like fucking addicts and it's so much more fun to make them beg for more and crawl on their hands and knees just for me to look at them."

Wendy raised an eyebrow at that but didn't comment. So what if Bebe was starting to get men from all over to lavish attention on her? That didn't matter to her because now she was a lawyer! She could sue the pants off of anyone she wanted to and didn't have to hire an attorney to do it for her. However, her interests were more in prosecution than it was defense, criminal instead of civil.

But still, that was the theory and from where she came from, anything was possible.

"That's…great," Wendy said after a moment. "Well, anyway, I'm on my way to the D.A.'s offices soon, hoping to get a job there. If it's not for a state, any county will do but I'm not going to stay at the bottom, let me tell you. In a few more years, I plan on—"

"Wendy, is that who I think it is?" Bebe interrupted her. Wendy almost scowled because damn it, she had been on a roll! What could have caused Bebe to interrupt her like this? "Isn't that that rapper guy who's been hitting it big recently?" Bebe continued, directing the young woman's attention in the direction of a black man who just so happened to not be Token Black.

It took Wendy a bit but she kinda sorta recognized him. Not that she had had much to do with him back in high school but still. She sorta remembered seeing the name of Nathan Wilkes on the list of 2012 graduates. There had been an address and everything to get in touch with him and had she sent an invitation? She must have but she had sent so many that it blurred together so she wasn't so sure.

But nevertheless, there was that music sensation whose face was on countless CDs that could be found at any music store or Best Buy and here he was at her high school reunion.

For a moment, Wendy had an unsettling feeling in her gut that going up to this guy might not be the smartest thing to do. She had no idea why but she had had these gut instincts since, well, since Elementary she supposed. If you were to survive past the age of eleven, you had to develop at least one.

Bebe, naturally, had better ideas. "Let's go talk to him! Maybe he's in the market for a girlfriend! Wouldn't it be neat if the hottest rapper out there, and I'm not talking about his looks, hooks up with the hottest model out there? The fame, the fortune, the paparazzi! Come on Wendy!"

And that was how she was dragged over to greet a rapper.

Was it wrong of her to be surprised when she didn't see any gold teeth in his mouth?

Because of her cognitive processes, she missed Bebe greeting Nathan and Nathan's reply but she wasn't out of it enough to not see the way Nathan's eyes travel up and down Bebe's body. Ugh, she could see the physical attraction and it was at this point that Wendy tuned into the conversation.

"Would either of you two have seen Charlotte, I mean, Charlie White around?"

Whoa, where the hell did that come from? She had just seen him undress Bebe with his eyes but then he's asking about another girl? And Charlie White to be exact? The same Charlie White who happened to be an item with that short psychopath? That Charlie?

She saw Bebe giving her a look and Wendy knew that some kind of answer was expected from her. "I sent the invitations to everyone," she answered, pausing as she took a quick look around, searching for the woman in question. While doing that, she also made the effort of searching for any sign of a black trenchcoat and was more than happy to report that there was no such sign.

Knowing that asshole, he'd try and sabotage the reunion for his own sick satisfaction.

"Sorry, I don't see her. Maybe she didn't come," she shrugged.

"Are you sure you sent her one?" Nathan asked. Why was he so determined to know?

"The address I sent an invitation to is right here in town," Wendy said. "I think she still lives here and unless she changed it and decided not to tell anybody she moved, she should still be in town. Why don't you start by going to her house or something?"

"You're not going to leave now, are you?" Bebe asked when Nathan nodded and made to go.

"I was…uh, kinda looking forward to seeing her," Nathan admitted, looking down. "If she's not here, well…"

"You should be careful, you know," Wendy told him. "I don't know if she's still seeing…_him_ but if she is, you might be putting yourself into danger. I mean, you should know about all the rumors. And those two were pretty close. I have no idea what she sees in him."

"You and me both," Nathan muttered under his breath. "I think I can take care of myself," Nathan said confidently. "I know I don't look it but I've been taking some self-defense classes. Karate, Tae Kwon Do, Tai Chi, Aikido, and a few others. Did pretty good too. He's going to need more than a knife if he's going to threaten me. I haven't seen him around here either but I'm guessing you sent him an invitation too, right?"

"Actually, that was one I dragged my feet on doing," Wendy said sheepishly. "He should be getting it after the weekend. I'm hoping that if he gets pissed off, it can be blamed on the shitty postal service. Though I doubt he'd be interested in showing up anyway. He barely came to any of the other school stuff until about the last year. Plus he hated everybody. Why would he willingly put himself in the same room with a lot of them?"

"You got a point," Nathan said. "Still, Charlie could have told him anyway, you know. If he is in town, he'll be messing with the wrong person if he decides to get all creepy on me."

"Why don't we talk about something else?" Bebe suggested. "All this talk about that guy is just bumming me out. Say, what's it like to be a rapper, I mean, singer? Is it cool?"

"Sorry, but I—" Nathan began.

"Can't you stick around a bit? I mean, she isn't going anywhere and it's dark out," Bebe said. "You know how some of our parents are when there are, pardon me for saying this, black guys roaming around late at night. You can see her tomorrow if you want. But in the meantime, how about catching up with the rest of us? Some of us can't stay long and may not be here tomorrow…"

Wendy noticed how Nathan gave Bebe another once over and for a moment, Wendy hoped that he would say no.

"Sure, I guess," Nathan shrugged. Oh great, Wendy knew what the deciding factor in this was. Tits and ass, it was always the same. And Bebe looked like she knew what she was doing.

She had a feeling that her friend might be getting lucky tonight if she managed to play her cards right.

Damn it, this was supposed to be a time for her to brag about making it in the world! She was a lawyer! She was going to be entering the big time soon! Christ, where was Cartman? At least with him she knew he would be lying about his accomplishments and she could shove her real ones into his face.

* * *

Damien frowned as he felt a vibration against his leg. What was that? Why was there something vibrating against his leg? If anything should be vibrating against his body, it had better damn well be against his crotch. What could possibly be—oh wait, that was his phone. He could feel the device through his pants now that he had placed his hand on top of it.

Now, in his defense, he was an unholy, demonic, spawn-of-Satan Antichrist; what need did he have for mortal communication contraptions? Sure his father got one but did that necessarily mean that he needed one?

_But I got a family plan and it was cheap too! You better take this damn thing or else I'll have to pay full price for a single plan you ungrateful bastard!_

Naturally he had asked why get a family plan when there was only two of them. Apparently his father wanted to include some past boyfriends. And some demons. And some other unholy beasts that should not be named here. It was a long list so Damien was going to cut it off right here.

But what was really ticking this Antichrist off was the fact that his father was interrupting his precious Kyle time! Sure Kyle was bitching like usual but Damien liked the bitching. Like with everything else, Kyle was always so passionate about it. But nooooo, his father has to act like a fucking cock block and…and…

He had to take this call, excuse him.

Parting away from his favorite red-headed mortal and making his way out of the tawdrily decorated gymnasium, Damien answered his father's call with a hissed, "_What_?"

"_That's no way to talk to your father young man! What took you so long to pick up? My fingernail polish is halfway dried already."_

"I'm busy," Damien growled into the phone before what his father had just said reached him. "Fingernail polish? Are you painting your nails again?"

"_I'm just with my BFF and we're having a girls' night out."_

"But you have a penis!" Damien exclaimed.

"_I don't see where you're going with this."_

"Never mind, why are you calling me?" Damien demanded, not wanting to go any further with this topic.

"_Well I…huh. Now why was I calling you again?"_

And this was Satan, the Prince of Darkness, Ruler of Hell, and God's former favorite angel who turned his back on that hippo-esque rat and tried to seize his throne in a bitter and bloody war the likes of which could only be compared to _The Lord of the Rings_. _This_ was his father.

Damien was willing to pray to God himself that he didn't turn out like his old man.

"You don't call this number unless you want to waste my time with something that crawled up your ass or is very important. If you're calling about the former, I'm hanging up."

"_No wait! Now I remember, this is super serial! I need you to come back home now. This is a very serious subject and no one outside of Hell needs to know anything about it. Phone lines are too vulnerable."_

Sure, head off the old "tell me what it is now" argument. Unfortunately, Damien could not refuse this request, order, whatever you want to call it of his father's. Damien was still under his father's power and until the giant red pussy vacated his throne, there was little Damien could do in terms of resistance. If his father wanted him home…then Damien would have to go home. Kyle was not going to like hearing that he was bailing out early.

"I'll be there in an hour. I need take care of a few things first," Damien sighed.

"_Great, that'll give me time to do Violet's nails! That girl has the sweetest smile…of course I'm not just saying that, you do! It's gorgeous! Of course I'm not lying! Why would I lie? Look at me. Do I look like someone who lies—"_

Damien glared at his phone as a dial tone blared out of the receiver.

By Chernabog's black ass…

* * *

So far, tonight had been a very sobering one for Kenny McCormick. For example, the reunion between him and the three friends he had had since elementary. That had definitely been the most sobering portion of this reunion so far; of the four of them only two of them could be considered successful. Kenny had no illusions that he was only marginally successful. His job was a dead end one unless he could miraculous expand it.

Like that was ever going to happen. Still, at least he wasn't the worst off. Since Kyle and Stan left them, their interloper Damien dragging the former away, Kenny had contented himself with keeping an eye on the least successful of them.

It was a hoot. It really was.

Did Cartman really believe that people believed he had done all the things he had said he had? Going to the moon, that one was actually true but that happened back in the unmentionable middle school years. It was a lie that it happened after high school graduation. Other than that, the money he professed to have, the yachts, the big companies he merged with, being an elected official of Alaska, having a beer at the White House, all of it was just so stupid that it was hard not to smile at it.

"Yeah, well, when you've composed over a hundred songs that aren't Christian rock songs, you find you want to slow down and do more productive things with your life," Cartman regaled. "Have I mentioned I was invited to a beer summit at the White House? Yeah, I was invited to a beer summit at the White House. Kicked ass."

"Uh huh, that's real interesting," Wolf Black said dully, looking as if he didn't want to be there.

Yeah, Wolf Black. Now Kenny had had some dealings with that guy though it wasn't done between himself, Kenny McCormick, and the businessman. Let's just say that those were some stories only his alter ego could tell. That guy was really trying to expand into some fishy territory and no, fish were not involved.

Other than that, Kenny liked to keep his distance from him. He always saw the guy who wanted to be a businessman since forever as a bit of a…well, a weirdo he supposed. Someone who was so determined to be something for who really knew how long and going as far as to engage in it at early age…

Perhaps he didn't have any friends. Maybe this Wolf guy was lonely or something.

"Us rich guys, we gotta stick together," Cartman continued. "Those money grubbing liberals are always trying to take our hard-earned money and don't get me started on the Jews. Those greedy Jewrats, if you even drop a _penny_ on the floor, they're all over it."

"You don't say," Wolf replied, sounding as bored as he had been since Cartman bumped into him.

"Other than that, it's all good. Say, you wouldn't mind if you gave me some pointers," Cartman tried to wheedle. "You've been doing your thing for so long and you're successful. I bet you have a lot of anti-Jew safeguards that protect that fortune you've been building for yourself."

"I hire Jews for accounting," Wolf shrugged.

Cartman looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer and shattered his view of reality with it. Gasping, he demanded, "Say it isn't so! You haven't been compromised!"

"What are we talking about again," Wolf said more than asked and it was obvious that he was bored. Kenny could tell even from all the way over here.

Wolf must've had some kind of sharp sense of smell like his namesake; should've smelled the poverty off of Cartman by now and maybe that was why he was so disinterested.

While Cartman was wailing away, Kenny looked away for a moment, taking a glance at the paltry buffet table that was set up for this event. Not even enough for a good meal here. Maybe it was a good thing Wendy hadn't planned prom; the food selection sucked here but ten years ago it was so much better.

Forgive him for the criticism but he had some ingrained behaviors that just wouldn't leave him. That went double for anything considered edible.

Plucking some so-called hors d'oeuvres and chowing down on them, Kenny turned his attention back to Cartman and Wolf only to see that Wolf had moved on and was stalking towards where Stan was. Cartman meanwhile looked put out but even then Kenny knew he wouldn't let it get to him. It was reasonable to expect Wolf to follow after money and money was one thing Cartman didn't have.

Seeing that there wasn't going to be any more immediate entertainment coming from Cartman for the moment, Kenny turned away again with the hope that maybe, just maybe, he had overlooked a table around here that had some kind of sustenance on it.

What he didn't expect was to nearly bump into Brittany Love. She had spoken earlier, hadn't she? That eulogy. Okay by his standards but he had heard better ones.

"Kenny!" Brittany nearly exclaimed. "I didn't see you there."

Huh, kinda sounded like this was a coincidence or something but she was overacting. She had known he was standing there and was hoping to make it look like an accident. Well, whatever, it's not like he cared if someone wanted to talk with him.

"Hey there Brittany," he replied. "Nice eulogy earlier. You were really close with, um, Bonnie was it? You were tight with her, weren't you?"

For a second, it looked like there was a strained mask of pleasantness on Brittany's face. Then in an almost monosyllabic speech, she said, "Yes. We were. Close. Friends. Yes. Real. Tight. Right. Never closer."

"It must be tearing you up inside," Kenny continued.

"Yeah…" Brittany said, eyes closed and a large, almost fake smile on her face. One of the corners of that smile was twitching but for someone as observant as Kenny, it flew past him.

"I remember back when we were in school, I always saw the two of you together. Thick as thieves almost," Kenny remarked. "Weren't you part of some kind of social group or something?"

"That's something that I try not to think about. I was young and stupid," Brittany said.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, I mean, you guys were friends," Kenny said. "When you're young, you're allowed to do stupid shit. Everyone knows, I did a lot of that in my day."

"But you're only twenty-eight," Brittany said, giving him a confused expression.

"Feels like I'm forty-eight," Kenny replied. "I've done so much already."

"So, um, what are you doing? What do you work as?" Brittany asked, clearly trying to change the subject. Apparently she wasn't expecting to see deep Kenny. Well, that was okay; not a lot of people could handle deep Kenny.

"Mechanic. Automotive bodywork. Best you can do when you come from where I'm from," Kenny shrugged. "What about you? What does a girl like you do for a living?"

"Journalist, _Washington Post_," Brittany answered, looking away from him shyly.

"Don't really read that," Kenny said. "I only read stuff on the internet when I'm…not doing fun stuff." He had to look away, scratching at his neck in slight discomfort. If he was with the guys, he would have admitted that he was looking at porn. It's just that you don't go around telling girls, or women, that that's what you were doing. Sensitivity kind of thing. And you never knew if the gal you were speaking with was the one person who had even considered letting you make love to them and lay them out by the fire.

It just wasn't smart burning bridges before you had to.

"Do you want a subscription? I think I can get you one, if you want," Brittany offered and did his ears deceive him or was that a sliver of hope he heard in her voice?

He took her in, weighing her words, and actually considering her offer. It took a moment, longer than usual to be honest, but this was the decision he had to come to. "I think I'm going to have to pass on it. I mean, I'd have to pay for it and I don't know. Guess that I just don't have that much on me to spare it for something like that. Sorry, I guess."

"That's okay," Brittany said. Kenny winced as he could make out the disappointment in her voice. That was something that he didn't want to do; he really hated it when he hurt girls' feelings. It just made him feel dirty.

"Keeeeenny! What the heck are you—hey there babe. It sure is great being a gazillionaire. I got buttloads of cash just coming out of my ass like no one's business. I'd show it off but I didn't want to risk letting some greedy Jewrats catch the scent of it."

And Cartman just had to interrupt when he did, didn't he?

* * *

Stan was feeling off more than he thought. First of all, he couldn't find Kyle anywhere and second, that thing that happened earlier, with Kyra, it wasn't settling well with him.

But he was in public, surrounded by all the guys and girls he had practically grown up with. He had to keep up appearances; it was something that he had learned back in New York. It was all about appearances there and if you appeared confident and strong, people tended to go along with whatever you told them. It was how you convinced tightwads to buy some stocks and get you a bit of a commission.

On the inside, he just felt like he was in turmoil. Things just didn't feel right anymore and like any guy out there, he was having trouble sorting through it. Yet he continued to speak with everybody he could, boasting about how well he was doing and asking what they were up to with their own lives.

It didn't make him feel any less empty than he already was. But why was he empty? Why?

You gotta shake it off Stan. People could sense weakness. Weakness is what would bring you down and send you back into that house with his dumbass father and his get-rich-quick schemes.

He was done with that, done with it years ago, and he was never going to go back to that. And yet why was everything feeling so wrong?

Hold on a sec; his business senses were tingling. Someone wanted to do business.

He snapped his head to a side and in the direction his gut was pointing him to. Wolf Black blinked at him dumbly, somewhat taken by surprise by his unexpected action.

Hey, he kinda remembered this guy. Sold school supplies and shit back in high school and called it a business, the black market or some shit like that. Yeah, you had these weird passwords that were song lyrics that you had to sing in order to get in. Repressed memories of having to sing _Barbie Girl_ to a metal door came to mind and he physically shook his head to rid himself of the memories.

"I hear you've made it to the big time, Mr. Marsh," Wolf greeted, holding out his hand in greeting. Business decorum had him shaking that hand though Stan felt as if he was gripping something slimy instead of fleshy.

That wasn't any biggie; that's how it felt to shake any CEO's hand. Why, Stan had shook the hand of Donald Trump once and felt like he needed a long shower because of it. So unclean. He wasn't helped by the fact that he found out the tycoon never washed his hands after going to the bathroom.

Some of Kyle's anal hygiene had rubbed off on him, so what?

Even with these thoughts, Stan was quick to say, "You've heard right. I'm just counting the days until they make me a partner at the firm. After that, smooth sailing. Six figure paycheck for the rest of my life until I retire."

"Sounds dreamy," Wolf said. "I'm surprised that someone like you has such a talent for business. I think I might have to steal you for myself."

"You're in retail right? Sorry, but I only deal with stocks," Stan said. "I make the economy my bitch."

"Yes, you certainly did that," Wolf agreed though he sounded a bit peeved by that for some reason. "But the gravy train can't last forever. Economy goes bad, people lose their fortunes all the time. What if that happens before you make partner? What then? Dealing with stocks isn't the most stable thing out there."

"I figure a bitchslap to the economy will keep things straight until I make it," Stan replied. "I just got a sense for these things, it's like a gift that I can't turn off. Even if things go to shit, I know that I won't go to shit."

"You certainly have a high opinion of yourself," Wolf chuckled. "However, I just have these feeling, and this is the businessman in me talking, that you're missing something. Something vital, something important."

Stan shifted his weight from leg to leg. "What makes you say that?"

"Call it intuition, psychic powers, ESPN," Wolf said dismissively, "but whatever you call it, I just have an eye for this kind of thing. I see that there's a need for something, a demand if you will, and I do what I can to supply it. Sure I do a lot of selling but if there's one thing you can find at Black Market, it's what you're looking for."

"And what exactly am I looking for?" Stan asked, deciding to humor this classmate with whom he had absolutely little contact with.

"Only you yourself know that for sure but just know that whatever the case may be, whatever it is that you crave, or just leaves you feeling empty, I can always satisfy it," Wolf said, giving him a wink. "For a fee, of course. But no customer leaves Black Market unsatisfied. Guaranteed."

It was that mention of feeling empty but Stan for a moment felt like Wolf was really talking to him, understanding him at this most basic level. It was weird but it made him want to hear more…

Wait a minute, hear more of what? This guy was a salesman, just telling him what he wanted to hear. He shouldn't be taken in so easily by it.

Deciding that maybe he had stuck around with this guy for too long, he glanced away, hoping for some kind of distraction and found it in, of all people, Wendy.

Wow, Wendy really matured. His eyes lowered a bit. _Really_ matured…

"What are you…looking…at…?" Wolf asked, looking the same way as Stan and also spotting what the stockbroker saw. Of course, he was looking more at Bebe and the amount of cleavage she was revealing but eh, it was close enough.

"I'm going to go say hi, I'll…uh…I'll talk with you later," Stan said.

"Take me with you," Wolf said in a small, childlike voice.

Stan either didn't hear or ignored him. Full disclosure, he was just using this as an excuse to get away from him. Wolf was, for some reason, unsettling. Now that he was away and not having a need for a distraction, he was coming back into his normal frame of mind.

Yeah, it seemed like Wendy had gotten hotter over the years but he didn't feel the need to vomit yet. Starting to overhear her voice again and…the physical attraction was wearing off. There was just too much baggage between them, really.

That didn't mean that he couldn't say hi, right?

Right.

"Hey Wendy. Hey Bebe," he greeted. "Been a while."

Looking away from the black guy with the afro that he only now just noticed, Stan found himself wondering why the two girls were giving him these looks, as if he was interrupting something.

"Stan, yeah, hey right back at you," Wendy said. "I haven't heard from you in a long time."

"Well, it's been crazy but I can't complain," Stan said. Glancing back over at the black guy, he asked, "Who's this and why is he here?"

"Don't you recognize him? He's Nathan Wilkes," Bebe said instead, introducing the black guy.

Stan stared at this Nathan Wilkes blankly. Taking in how the guy was dressed, he could only come to one conclusion. "Sorry, I don't listen to hip-hop."

"Actually, I don't do that," Nathan Wilkes said.

"You don't? Sorry man but I've been busy raking in so much cash that I haven't been really paying attention much," Stan excused.

"Same here," Nathan chuckled, apparently not offended. Well…Stan didn't know, maybe he was a little. "Have my own recording company, Drillz Records, and I do my own music."

"Hold the phone, Drillz Records? Man, I remember that; I got a shit load of people to invest in it!" Stan exclaimed.

"Why thank you Stan the Man," Nathan said.

"You know that nickname? Wow! You really did go to school with us!" Stan exclaimed yet again.

Wendy and Bebe were looking at the two of them oddly. What was their deal?

"Why else would I not be here?" Nathan asked rhetorically. "Ten years, man."

"Has it really been that long? Gosh. Where does the time go?" Stan wondered out loud.

"I know!" Nathan agreed.

"Are you guys having some kind of conversation that we aren't hearing?" Wendy asked.

As if not hearing her, Nathan sidled up close to Stan and added, "You know, I'm not just here for the reunion. There's a girl I've been wanting to meet up with. Same for you?"

You know, Stan couldn't tell you how but he felt like that. That probably didn't make any sense but yeah, what this Nathan just said, about seeing some girl, it struck home to him. That feeling that he had been forgetting something, now replaced with this empty sensation, perhaps the real reason that he decided to come back here was to see about meeting up with a girl.

And then he recalled just what had occurred with Kyra just now and that kinda brought him down.

"I guess you can say that," Stan said a bit uneasily.

"And isn't this grand?" Wolf piped up, practically popping up between the two of them, clamping his hands on their shoulders. "The three richest and most eligible bachelors in the room and only two lovely ladies to choose from. Anybody up for a five-way?"

"I swear, dude, you are the most socially awkward person I've ever met," Stan swore as he pried Wolf's hand off him.

"Don't touch me," Nathan said coldly as he did the same.

"Touchy!" Wolf pouted, or tried to pout at them. He came off looking constipated.

"You know where the restrooms are, right?" Bebe asked, interpreting the "pout" as everybody else was.

"Well this turned shitty really quick," Wolf mumbled under his breath though he wasn't quiet enough.

"I feel like we need to abort Bebe—" Wendy began, rubbing one of her temples.

"La! La! La! La!" Wolf yelled out, plugging his fingers into his ears. Everyone in the nearby vicinity was staring at him, wondering if this crazy guy had forgotten his crazy pills. Coming back into the moment and noticing all the attention, Wolf chuckled nervously and said, "I'm…gonna split."

"You do that," Nathan said, easing away from the owner of Black Market.

* * *

Okay, now Charlie was getting a bit disturbed. Confronting Tammy had been a bit explosive but as of now, that shrine to Bain that her sister kept in her closet was taken down.

What was disturbing, though, was what she had found amongst all the Bain memorabilia.

Right this minute, she was holding up the burned and tattered remains of Bain's old trenchcoat. It was the very one he had worn since the moment she had first met the sociopath and not a day had gone by when she didn't see him wear it. At least, that was until the fire at his house.

She had not been looking forward to telling him about the damage to it once he had woken up in the hospital. There was no telling how he would react after learning that his whole world up into that point was a giant pile of ashes. He had always been a bit unstable like that.

Miraculously, he hadn't gone into a meltdown though he was very quiet for the next few days. He was naturally quiet but this was going even further than that. One of the few things he had told her to do was to throw his damaged trenchcoat away and that's what she remembered doing.

Of course, she had forgotten to do it right away and before she knew it, she had brought the damn thing back home with her. The last time she had seen it, she had thrown it into the garbage can and never looked back.

Looks like Tammy recovered it sometime before the garbage men came.

Turning towards a laptop computer, she held the old garment up and said, "Doesn't this bring back memories?"

On the screen was a small window and in that window was the live image of none other than the previous owner of the coat, Bain. The young adult's heterochromatic eyes took in the broadcasted display but his mouth spoke no words. He was thinking about it, probably even recalling the memories associated with it. At least, that was what Charlie was able to gleam from what little body language she could see.

"_Your sister is much more…aggressive than I had thought,"_ Bain's voice spoke through the laptop's speakers.

"It's your fault you know," Charlie stated. "What were you thinking back then, hmm?"

"_I honestly cannot tell you that. Some of the memories I have that occurred before that drowning are still fuzzy."_

"You're the guy who's studying how people think. I think you should at least be able to give me some insight," Charlie said. "This is more than some childish crush that she should have outgrown years ago."

"_What can I say; it seems like I'm attracting all the White women," _Bain had the gall to shrug. _"Do you fear that you might have some competition, dear Charlotte?"_

"As if, this is my fucking sister you asshole," Charlie grumbled. "She still wants to marry you, you know."

"_I'd like to say that the insanity in your family is contagious," _Bain started to say.

"If there's anyone whose insanity is contagious, it's yours," Charlie countered.

"_A sensitive topic, hmm? It is so simple to figure out what pushes your buttons. I'm beginning to fear that you may not be a challenge anymore,"_ Bain said, his hands pressed together with his fingers intertwined and propped up in front of him. It was as if he was trying to looking some kind of twisted, world-dominating megalomaniac.

If that was so, he was failing at it. Epically. Maybe Charlie was so used to him and she couldn't find it in herself to really be afraid of him or maybe she just wasn't the type to be intimidated easily. Regardless, there was little Bain could do that would creep her out. Other people on the other hand…

"You haven't managed to put the fear of you into me yet," Charlie retorted.

"_Ah. That's right. I wonder what it would take,"_ Bain commented.

"First of all, I'm more worried about my sister than about you," Charlie said. Then, in a serious tone, "You _know_ why I'm worried."

"_After having my own front row seat, yes, I do,"_ Bain agreed as he leaned back in whatever he was sitting in. _"Worried about losing another family member? I don't blame you. Unlike some individuals I could name, you still care about your own flesh and blood."_

"You say that like I'm some kind of dying breed," Charlie said.

"_Aren't you?"_ Bain questioned.

"Whatever," Charlie rolled her eyes. "I suddenly remember why you're the last person to go to for family advice and it's not because you don't have one anymore."

"_Yes, yes, I'm still grief-stricken,"_ Bain said in a way that gave away that he wasn't.

"And knowing you, you'd just say kill her and be done with it," Charlie felt the need to add.

"_Now that hurts,"_ Bain said mockingly. _"Of course I wouldn't tell you to do that; you'd be the prime suspect in the investigation. The last thing I would want you to do is commit sororicide. No need to add that to your fratricide."_

"Fuck you," Charlie swore at him. "You're the one who…finished him off."

"_And you repaid the favor in turn,"_ Bain said. _"I've gotten over it. Put it behind me."_

"Bullshit," Charlie called him on it. "You did nothing but dream of killing your sister for years."

"_She deserved it,"_ Bain said in a warning tone.

Naturally, Charlie didn't heed it. "You're so full of shit trying to pull that whole gracious act."

"Charlotte_,"_ Bain said warningly. _"You're grinding my last nerve and since I am not there in person, I can exit out of this conversation without fear of reprisal."_

"Just because you live out in California doesn't mean I can't fly out there and be there in two hours to kick your ass," Charlie retorted.

"_And you're the only person I know with the metaphorical, if not anatomical, balls to do it,"_ Bain said wryly. Leaning forward and making the intensity of his one brown eye and his one green eye known, he added, _"I wouldn't mind if you followed through on that threat."_

"Aw, the remorseless killer misses me, doesn't he?" Charlie chided.

"_I miss you in more ways than one,"_ Bain said, pulling out a re-handled Winslow and gliding his fingertip against the blade.

"And I'm glad for that," Charlie said. "At least I still have my head."

* * *

How long had it been since he had last smelled brimstone and human suffering? Too long by the smell of things but Damien was willing to forego it so long as he could stay up on the wondrous surface.

However, he was not here to walk around and smell the toxic fumes like this was some kind of nature walk. This was business. Still, it wouldn't hurt him to take a little time heading over to the throne room. He was still early.

He closed his eyes as he listened to the faraway screams of agony and terror in the distance. You know, that one scream sounded like someone was getting a Hell-class enema. For mortals it was torture but for a demon or someone of Damien's caliber, very pleasant and relaxing.

He continued to stroll through the uneven and rocky grounds of his homeland, that is if you could call it a homeland. He noted how some of the monstrous creatures and demonic minions scooted away from him, some bowing slightly while others tilted their heads down in welcome. If there was one thing that was set in stone, it was that one day he was going to inherit this all when his father eventually abdicated. This would all be his to do with as he willed. Kinda made you warm and fuzzy in a dark and Satanic kind of way.

He knew all the pathways by heart and as the sulfur began to annoy him, he reached the high-up (as well as high-end) cavern that held Satan's throne. As he reached the large onyx doors that shut it off from the rest of Hell, he paused and wrinkled his nose at the smell of human teenage girl that wafted around and away from the throne room. His father was playing with that mortal as usual.

Damien had thought that by banishing her into the depths of Hell that that would have been the last time he'd ever have to be involved with that Violet mortal. He should have known better. He _should_ have known better…

Pushing open the doors, he entered his father's domain and announced his presence, noticing immediately that his father wasn't in plain sight. Now where could he…?

"Honey, you're back!" his father's deep yet cooing voice emerged from an alcove and—by all that was unholy and evil!

"Why are you wearing that?" Damien asked, unable to take his eyes off his father who was wearing a pink and heart-decorated apron. Large hands were encased in oven mitts and in them was a cookie sheet that possessed freshly baked cookies that had just come out of the oven.

"Why, I was baking some treats for you that you could take back when you returned," his father, Satan, the Lord of Hell, Prince of Darkness, etcetera, answered. "I still have some brownies and a pie left so you think you could stick around?"

Damien's jaw was lowered as he gaped at his red-skinned, maternalistic father. "Is this why you summoned me? So you could just give me baked goods?"

"No, of course not!" his father exclaimed, shaking his head and causing his black as fuck beard to wave around. "No, something super serious came up and you need to know about it super quickly."

"Did you find another boyfriend again?" he asked skeptically.

"No, but now that you mention it, there was this one guy I met who has real potential," Satan remarked, taking a hand off the cookie sheet to fiddle with one of his small, golden horns. "He was like a freaking engine piston, man. And his bod! Whoo! For some reason, though, he could only do me after he tied me down to the bed and had one of those hats that those dominatrix women wear but boy does he had stamina! I gave him my number…but he hasn't called back yet. Did I do something wrong? Was I too aggressive? Am I not Satanic enough for him?"

Something about that was…familiar. Really familiar. Really, really, _really_ familiar. Like two previous stories ago familiar.

"I was attending a mortal function when you called me," Damien groaned. "If this is what is so important that I had to come down here—"

"Oh, oh, oh, wait-wait-wait-wait!" his father exclaimed hurriedly, returning his hand to the cookie sheet.. "That wasn't it! Though I am worried about it, that muscle hunk wasn't who I needed to speak to you about! No, it's something way more important."

"And what is it? Does it have to do with your nails?" Damien asked dryly.

"No it doesn't but you're such a sweetie for noticing," his father said as he pinched his cheek, large red hand freed from oven mitt. Then, as if a switched had been flicked, Satan's demeanor took a change to the serious side, something that came simultaneously as he set aside the cookie sheet laden with cookies. "I summoned you back here Damien because there's a big problem."

Damien nodded as he listened to his father's firm and deep voice. It was one that could command respect…when his father wasn't busy being a pussy.

"Recently, it has come to my attention that there's been a decline in the number of souls entering Hell," Satan continued as he approached and took a seat on his dark throne. "Before you suggest it, yes, I have had my spies up in Heaven investigate to see if there's been an increase in the flow of souls into God's Kingdom. They've reported back that no, the flow of souls there is still the same. The same number of humans on Earth who die is the same number and that's increasing every year due to how many are on that planet. So many mortals are dying but many of them are not coming here."

"They could all be stuck there. You know, unfinished business," Damien suggested, trying not to show that he too was somewhat disturbed by this.

"No, paranormal activity on Earth is still the same," Satan informed him. "These souls are disappearing after death. Gone. They are not coming here, they're not going to Heaven, so then where are they going?"

"The only other place left would be Earth," Damien concluded. "There's no other place."

"My thoughts exactly," his father nodded at him approvingly. Fatherly approval; even someone like Damien craved it. "I hate to do that but Damien, I'm going to have to ask you to maybe put aside your plans to bring about the impending apocalypse until this matter has been solved."

"I understand, Father. The matter of these missing souls is more urgent," Damien said.

"Indeed," his father nodded. "Hell needs the continuous flow of souls in order to sustain the fires of eternal punishment and repentance. So long as the flames remain lit and burn, Hell will continue to grow to accommodate the new souls that come in. The longer souls remain here, the less they feed the flames, the less Hell expands until the point that it get so crowded, it's like a Who concert with free admittance to all and no crowd capacity control."

"That's…suffocating," Damien grimaced.

"Tell me about it," Satan said, his voice lightening up. "It'll ruin the whole Beatles' reunion I'm planning. I'm still waiting for those two stragglers to croak but it's going to be so awesome. John and George have already agreed to do it, not that they have any other choice."

Was it a bad time to mention that Damien wasn't a Beatles fan?

"I will investigate this, Father, and as soon as I find something out, I will report it to you," Damien said.

"Do be careful," Satan cautioned. "I would never forgive myself if any harm came to even a single hair on your head."

"I can take care of myself," Damien muttered, looking away as his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "I have Kyle to back me up if things go south."

"Maybe you should leave him out of this. He is a mortal and wouldn't understand," Satan warned. "The less who know about this, the better. The last thing we need is for those assholes in Heaven to find out about this. We'd be the laughingstock of all existence! I will be _damned_ if I let that happen!"

"But aren't you already damned?" Damien asked.

Satan blinked and thought about it. "Oh yeah, forgot about that whole exile thing. Um, wait, wait, I know! I won't be damned, I will be _double secret damned_! That's like ten times worse than just being damned."

Damien was trying to wrap his mind around the concept but just couldn't do it. "Yeah, we wouldn't want that," he said at last.

"Go my son," Satan commanded, his voice returning to his deep and darker voice. "Show everyone just what the Antichrist is made of. Punish those who dare to interfere with the natural order."

"As you command," Damien accepted the charge and turned to leave.

"Upp, hold on a sec! Almost slipped my mind! You can't forget your cookies! Damien? Get your ass back here and take your Goddamn cookies! Damien? Damien!"

* * *

Author's Note: Did I mention that Bain shows up this chapter? Bain shows up this chapter.


	7. A Pocketful of Idiots

Author's Note: Isn't this familiar? Update last week I think and here we are with another update. If the pattern holds, it might be another three weeks. Hopefully not. Anyway, more plot development and the title I think sums up just about everything. The last of the submitted OCs shows up, an old OC is reintroduced, and a surprise character makes a debut. Anyone care to guess who it is? Eh, you'll all find out soon enough.

Something I haven't done before is reply to reviewers who are not signed in. This will be the first and who knows, it might become habit. The reason why I'm doing this right now is because there was an "anonymous" reviewer who reviewed and left me wanting to ask a question of them. Since there were two of them, I'm not going to single anybody out. So…

**TheCatMotherLord:** Thank you and I do try to do things differently. I hope you continue to enjoy the story and hopefully I can surprise you along with everyone else on where this is going to go.

**CrownedSoldier:** Who's Rolland? I don't think there's a character named that in this fic so far. Maybe you mistyped? Just want to know who you're talking about.

Now, with that out of the way, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

A Pocketful of Idiots

Kyle was just in one of those states where you were completely emotionless, where you didn't feel anything at all, even though the person who you were supposed to be attending a reunion with ditched you without telling you. Yeah, he was mad about it but come morning, he was what you could say over it.

Even as he passed the statue honoring the late Office Barbrady, he felt nothing at all as he climb the stairs, ignoring the lazy ass renovators who seemed to be taking their time on this city hall renovation project. Stopping only to put his things in his office and collect some paperwork that needed to be taken to the mayor's office, he approached said office still in this blank emotional state.

Naturally, though shut, the door was open and he entered the office without fuss. He would admit that he was a bit surprised to see the mayor behind his desk and maybe it was his mind deceiving him but Damien looked like he was thinking really hard about something.

Walking across the office and decreasing the distance between them, Kyle confirmed that Damien was indeed deep in thought. Even when he set the documents he had brought in with him on the mayor's desk, Damien had yet to react to his presence.

If anything was to sound an alarm, this was it. Hardly a day passed when Damien wasn't trying to maximize all the time he could to spend with the Jew. The guy went out of his way just to bother him and now that he, Kyle, was standing right in front of him, you can see where this was going.

With a sigh, Kyle knew there was only one thing that could be of any use here.

He whacked the mayor upside the head.

Damien wasn't mortal so even if Kyle had hit him with all his strength, Damien wouldn't even flinch. The fact that the Antichrist winced and rubbed the back of his head meant that he hadn't even been aware that his aide was in the same room as him.

Sad to say, such a reaction was troubling to Kyle.

"What was that for?" Damien demanded in his normal high pitched voice, giving him a reproachful look.

"Your head was up in the clouds and I felt the need to bring you back down to earth," Kyle answered. "I've never seen you this deep in thought before. Something up?"

"More than you know," Damien muttered, his eyes moving over the recently placed paperwork that rested on his desk. "More mortal chores today? I'm afraid something big has come up and I need to set aside my Earthly duties to deal with it."

The fact Damien wasn't using his Batman voice only heightened Kyle's concern. Now he knew something was definitely wrong.

Still, though, he couldn't let Damien skip out on his mayoral duties. He was an elected official!

As if reading his mind, Damien added, "This comes from my father, Kyle. His word trumps any mortal constitution."

Kyle scowled. "Then what's going on? What's so important that you can't do the job you were elected to do?"

"You know, my father told me not to get you involved," Damien remarked casually, as if he hadn't heard him. His next words, though, told Kyle that he had indeed heard him. "However, I feel that you need to be in the know. I understand how important my mortal duties are but when a large amount of souls goes missing on Earth, it threatens the natural existential order."

"What?" Kyle blinked at the mayor, not quite understanding him.

"It is as I said," Damien said. "The flow of souls to Hell has ebbed, lessened, and while you may think that's a good thing, it is actually bad. There are missing souls out there that haven't entered Hell, nor have they entered Heaven. They are unaccounted for. If too many souls remain unaccounted, that means there will be problems for both sides, a crisis in dimensional balance. It's real complicated stuff but the gist of it is that it will leak over and destabilize the mortal realm."

"Okay, so souls not going to Hell is a bad thing," Kyle said.

"Correct, and my father has assigned me the task of finding out what is going on," Damien stated.

Another sigh escaped Kyle's lips. He really didn't understand what was going on but apparently it took precedence over Damien's normal obligations. Looks like he might have to help out and get this thing over with as soon as possible so that Damien could get back to his real job.

"Tell me more about it," Kyle said out loud as he walked over to the door and shut it, locking it to make sure no one would barge in suddenly or at least give them time to compose themselves first. Returning to Damien's desk and taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of it, he said, "Is there anything I can do to help you out so that you can get back to work?"

"Well, since you're offering…" Damien was giving him a smirk but Kyle returned it with an unamused bland look. "What I need you to help me figure out is what kind of human or supernatural being on Earth has the ability to snatch souls and hold them for at least an indefinite amount of time."

"Beats the shit out of me," Kyle said. "Outside of a few creepy cults, I wouldn't have the foggiest clue…although…"

"Although what?" Damien asked, leaning towards the Jew.

"I can't say for certain, but with the exception of the church trying to save souls, the only thing in town that I've heard come up with the word soul would be the Black Market," Kyle explained. "It was the other day; I heard someone say to this friend of theirs that they got a great deal there and that he managed to cheat the store by selling them his soul. It was one of those guys who are doing all the construction stuff around City Hall, now that I think of it."

"This person sold their soul to the Black Market?" Damien reiterated skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, that's just what I heard; I could have misheard him," Kyle felt the need to say, holding his hands up as if to ward away Damien's doubt.

"This makes no sense to me. What would a mortal business be doing accepting souls as payment? Can they even collect souls?" Damien wondered out loud.

"Well, you could always go there and see for yourself," Kyle suggested. "I mean, what other leads do you have? I'm assuming that your father is using whatever information channels he has access to to learn more about what is going on. How much have they found out?"

"Other than the usual suspects?" Damien shrugged.

"Usual suspects?" Kyle repeated.

"The usual suspects, Cthulhu cults, Hoodoo shamans, Kevin Spacy," Damien threw out casually, waving a hand dismissively. "So far, not much activity out of the usual. There's been no increase in those groups. If the Black Market is the best you can come up with, well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to investigate it. Nothing ventured, nothing gain after all."

Watching as Damien stood up from his seat and moved around his desk, Kyle remained in his seat, already knowing that Damien was going to ask him to take care of things in his absence. "Do you mind handling things here? I know—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I figured you were going to say that," Kyle grumbled, waving the question away. "Just do what you have to do and I'll do what I'm able while you're gone. Just make it quick."

"Worried about me?" Damien smirked at him and cupped one of his cheeks. "There's nothing to worry about but I appreciate your concern. It makes you more precious."

"I'm only doing this because some red giant man-mother of a devil is ordering you to do this," Kyle growled, "and if you don't take your hand off my cheek, I will bite it off."

"So kinky," Damien teased, red streaks flashing behind his brown contacts. At least he remembered to put those in before he came into the office.

"It wasn't supposed to be kinky," Kyle glared up at him from his seat.

"I'll be back soon to enjoy your company more, my little _tsundere_," Damien remarked as he left via a red flash.

"What the hell is a sune-dare-y?" Kyle spoke aloud.

* * *

Charlie had been staring at the screen of her computer for almost an hour. In that amount of time, all she had managed to do was write up one and a half pages of the novel she had been working on for who know how long.

Her mother had made it look so easy. It wasn't often but there had been times when she had walked in on her mother when she was in the midst of writing her next book. The sound of a thousand keys being tapped, whole paragraphs forming in seconds and in minutes a whole page typed out. It was only now that she was older that she could really appreciate it.

Of course, her mother was your stereotypical writer who would get a contract for a book made a year in advance and for ten of those months she would do nothing but procrastinate. Then in the last two months, she would disappear for weeks on end and Charlie would wonder if she was even in the same house. Then after two months, her mother would emerge, poor hygiene evident but a newly complete manuscript ready to be mailed out.

Truly, she had an appreciation for it now. How her mother had managed to conquer the dreaded writer's block, she did not know. However she did it, Charlie could only wish that whatever trick her mother had could be somehow inserted into her brain so that she could make use of it.

But back to the matter at hand, she had been staring at her computer screen for about an hour when the doorbell rang. She tilted her head to a side, the only sign that she acknowledged it but other than that she made no move to answer it. Stomping from the stairs told her that Tammy was on her way to do just that and close to a minute later, Tammy was calling for her, shouting that it was for her.

Charlie grunted then shut her eyes, using her fists to rub at that. Slowly, her chair creaking as she relieved it of her weight, Charlie trudged her way to the front door, knowing full well that for now she wasn't going to get any more work done.

The front door was left open with only a crack existing between the door itself and the doorway, an attempt to keep the heat of the house in while keeping the coolness of the outdoors out. Without ceremony, Charlie gripped the doorknob and jerked the door open the rest of the way.

A bouquet of a dozen or so roses, all of them blood red and aromatic in fragrance clouded her vision.

That was what met her face and she blinked her eyes dumbly as if disbelieving them. God, the color! It was so intense! For some reason, though, she felt a bit dismayed that they were so fresh and lively and not dying and rotting.

Then she got a look at the person holding the roses.

"Do I know you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at the black male standing on her doorstep. Now this made more sense. Silly of her to think…never mind.

"Hey Charlotte," the black guy said, a Yankee's hat perched proudly on his head. "I know this is not what you're expecting but I've been waiting to do this for a long time."

Charlie frowned at both how this guy hadn't answered her question as well as using her actual first name and not the nickname that everyone else called her by. "Who are you?"

"Oh, eh, sorry about that," the black guy apologized sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. Flashing her a pearly white smile, he introduced himself, "My name's Nathan. I went to school with you and all the others years ago. I understand why you wouldn't remember me; I was a bit shy back then but I always liked you."

"Uh huh, right Nathan," Charlie said, not really buying it.

"I can see that you don't believe me and I don't blame you," Nathan said. "But—oh wait, these are for you." He interrupted himself and held the bouquet away from him and towards her. Charlie looked down at the roses then back at Nathan then back at the roses. Not seeing any reason not to take then, she accepted the lovely-looking flowers and saw the obvious satisfaction that was on Nathan's face.

"Thank you Nathan," she said cordially. "It was nice meeting you but I have stuff to do so… Bye."

"Aren't you going to invite me in Charlotte?" Nathan asked, looking startled but not out of the frame of mind to not stick his foot in the doorway.

"Please, call me Charlie," she insisted. "Only those who are…close to me are allowed to call me that and not before."

"But I feel like I'm close to you," Nathan said.

"But I don't," Charlie deadpanned. "If you're trying to hit on me, I'm already spoken for."

"By Bain?" Nathan said dryly.

She didn't like how he said Bain's name. It was as if there was some kind of hostility in it. "Yeah…how do you know about him?" she inquired.

"When nobody was talking about Stan and Wendy breaking up or any of the other popular kids and their relationships, they were talking about how you and Bain were husband and wife," Nathan rolled his eyes. "I don't want to be the one who has to tell you this but people kinda regarded you two as some kind of freak show, not that I think you're a freak, I'm just saying how the others talked about it."

"Tell me something I don't know," Charlie took her turn to roll her eyes. "If I had really cared about what people said about me behind my back, a bunch of people wouldn't have tongues."

"I know it's a big shock and—what? You knew?" Nathan gaped at her in surprise.

"I've never cared about what people say about me," Charlie stated again as she carefully and unobtrusively began nudging Nathan's foot out of the doorway. "Life's too short for that shit; I know that from personal experience."

"Oh, well, uh, um, you know, I," Nathan fumbled for words. Eventually, after a moment, he settled on a topic that was as far away as you could get about Charlie's high school social life. "I'm in the music business, you know? Got a couple albums out. Maybe you've heard some of my stuff on the radio?"

Charlie took in Nathan, looking him up and down. Red Polo shirt, blue jeans (now that made her nostalgic) iPod ear buds dangling around his neck, and that Yankee's cap, there was only one conclusion Charlie could reach.

"Sorry, I don't listen to Hip-hop," she said and shut the door in Nathan's face before he could say anything more. For extra measure, she turned the deadbolt before locking the door.

Sighing, she lifted the roses up and stared at them uncomprehendingly for a minute. Shrugging, she decided that she'd figure out what she was going to do with these things later. At the very least, it might combat the smells that only a hormonal teenage girl seemed to be able to make.

Unbeknownst to her, a pair of eyes was watching intently before darting away.

* * *

Nathan stared at the door to Charlie's house, willing it to open.

It didn't.

This…hadn't gone as well as he had hoped it would. Had he come on too strongly?

"Psst!"

He frowned. Looking behind him then left and right, he searching for the source of that sound. However, he found nothing and all he could do was scratch his head in confusion.

"Psst!"

There it was again! Where the hell was it coming from?

"Up here!"

Up where? Here? Craning his head backwards and looking straight up, he found that he had to turn around once more so that he could better look at the young girl that was peering down on him from a second story window. Say, wasn't she the one who answered the door earlier?

"I know it doesn't look like it but I think Charlie likes you," the girl stage-whispered to him. "She's just a bit shy around boys she doesn't know and usually just insults or bullies them because she's really self-conscious. Not a lot of people know that. I just saw her just now and she had this look on her face. She only gets that look when she's real flustered."

"How do you know that?" he asked, eyeing the girl skeptically.

"'Cause I'm her sister!" the girl hissed down at him. "I know her better than she knows herself."

Nathan stared up at the girl, trying to figure out what the angle was. Still, there was a part of him that was drinking up her words, desperately wanting them to be true. It was this part of him that eventually won out. "Are you sure?"

"Would I lie?" the girl asked.

"I don't know, would you?" Nathan retorted.

"Just…trust me. She really likes you. She just hasn't admitted it to herself," the girl said. Looking behind her, she hissed, "I gotta go," and then ducked back in, shutting the window.

Nathan stared at the window for a bit before smoothing out his shirt and saying, "I knew it. She digs me."

* * *

Nathan was not the only guy in town who was seeing about a girl. Unlike Nathan, Stan was not having as much success.

That was why he was outside of Gary Harrison's door and not Kyra McCloud's. Apparently, in the last ten years, Kyra had moved out but to where, Stan did not know. He figured that Gary would know. Of course, trying to track down where Gary lived had been a trial in and of itself. Gary also didn't live at his old house though his parents did.

To make a long story short, after trying to be as charming as he could be and convincing the old couple that he was not the kid from almost twenty years ago, he was having dinner at Gary's parents' house that night but at least he knew where Gary lived.

He was one more step closer to fixing things with Kyra and getting back to his rich lifestyle back in New York, hopefully with a certain lady joining him.

Without hesitation, he knocked on the door and took a step back, putting his hands into his pockets as he waited for Gary to answer. He looked up towards the ceiling and hummed the tune to a song he had been hearing on the radio recently. It was some kind of rap song; he thought it was one that was sung by that nice Nathan Wilkes fellow he had the pleasure to meet last night. He began to tap his foot impatiently the longer it took for Gary to show his face.

What was taking him so long?

He knocked harder on the door and frowned at the door when it didn't open and reveal the last obstacle to his goal. What was taking him? Wasn't he home? Come on Gary!

Curling his hand into a fist he began to bang on the door just as it opened. Stan managed to stop himself in time before he began smacking Gary's face. That wouldn't have been good because he still needed to question the guy. But first thing was first.

"Stan?" Gary asked, blinking at him owlishly.

"Dude, what took you so long?" Stan demanded. "I've been waiting for you to answer for, like, forever!"

"You knocked on the door ten seconds ago," Gary stated.

"Yeah, forever," Stan said. "I live in a fast pace world where my life is fast pace and anything not going at my fast pace is going in slow motion."

"You knocked just ten seconds ago," Gary repeated.

"Like I said, forever," Stan reiterated.

Sighing, Gary asked, "What do you want Stan?"

At last…what did he want? Why was he here? He could have sworn he came here for something but it was his fast pace life. He was moving so fast that he couldn't remember things he wanted a while ago. Oh, oh, wait, he remembered. Gary was Kyra's friend and he was here…for what again? Focus Stan! Ugh, how hard was it to find out where Kyra lived? He had gone to Kyra's house to find out she didn't live there anymore, went to Gary's only to find out his parents lived there instead, had to go have dinner with them tonight, but found out where Gary lived and now here he was to—that was it!

"Stan?" Gary asked when he hadn't said anything.

"Right, I remember," Stan said. "Gary, do you know where Kyra lives? I went to her house but only found her parents there."

"A lot of people eventually move out and away from their parents Stan," Gary explained slowly.

"I know, I know, I've been learning that," Stan said. "Now, can you tell me where Kyra lives? I've been trying to call her but she hasn't been answering my calls. I need to talk with her."

"Stan, I don't think that that's a good idea," Gary said. "She took last night a bit hard but it's given her the motivation to really move on with her life. I don't know what exactly happened between you two but Kyra's decided that she doesn't need you in her life. She told me that if you came around and began bothering me about trying to find her to just tell you to suck my balls and go away."

"Dude…that's like the third time you've told me to do that," Stan said. "Why do you keep telling me to suck your balls?"

"Because that's the only thing that reaches you," Gary answered without hesitation. Before he said anything else, he sneezed and a small white feather fluttered in the air between them.

"What the hell is that?" Stan asked as he watched the feather slowly fall.

"That thing happens every so often," Gary shrugged. "I've gotten used to it."

"Don't you think you should get that checked out?" Stan asked.

"Doctor says I'm fine. Can't find anything wrong," Gary answered.

"And Kyra lives?" Stan asked.

"At the apartment complex on New Liberty Road—oh, gosh, dang, it," Gary unwittingly answered, only realizing that the cat was out of the bag a little too late.

"Thanks! You've been a great help!" Stan chirped as he turned to leave.

"No, wait, I…" Gary trailed off as he watched Stan's ever shrinking back, hand stretched in protest. "Kyra's not going to like this…"

* * *

Brianna had waited until Craig had left for work before she started making herself look pretty. Did she say pretty, she meant sexy. Did she say sexy, she meant sexilicious. It was like delicious just with the "de" replaced with sex.

Yep, she was highlighting all her physical attributes, making herself look fuckable and all with the singular purpose of bagging the latest man in her life who had impressed her. She knew where he was going to be; where else would he be other than City Hall?

City Hall…that was a very public place and one where there was some kind of sense of decorum, wasn't there? Might bring along a coat so as to hide her sexilicious body until the moment she unveiled it to Mayor Achristos. Yeah, no sense giving all the plebs out there an eyeful that they didn't deserve. She was going to be the next Mrs. Mayor Achristos after all.

Wow, she hadn't done this much grooming in a long, long time. Had Craig been more ambitious…well, she was fixing that wasn't she?

After dolling herself up, she headed out to the car but only recalled too late that they had just one car and Craig had selfishly used it to go to work. He was so inconsiderate! Was she expected to _walk_ all the way to City Hall? It looked to be that way.

She caught a break, though, as she saw that faggy neighbor of theirs from across the street leaving the house he shared with that Goth-y looking guy. And were those keys in his hand? One had to be used to, let's say, start up a car! Now what was his name again? She hadn't bother to learn the names of the people around her because she had always assumed that she wouldn't be living in this neighborhood for long.

Once again, Craig had to keep ruining things for her, didn't he?

"Hey!" she called out as she crossed the street, not bothering to look both ways. Why should she? It wasn't as if this was a busy road or anything!

The guy who she was finding out was much shorter than he looked now that she was up close looked up at her with this deer-in-the-headlights expression. "Huh?"

"Are you going into town? I need a ride," she stated.

Instead of rushing to fulfill her every need, the dumbass just stared at her. "This is the first time you've talked to me without calling me a fag," he said dumbly.

Oh wait, he was the gay neighbor wasn't he? They all looked alike, her neighbors. But what was up with that hairdo? Looked like he got in a fight with a pair of scissors, lost, and decided to get a bad dye job to try and cover it up.

It was doing that poorly.

"Whatever, I need a ride. Drive me," she ordered.

A few minutes later, her gay neighbor agreeing finally, Brianna was now downtown and in front of City Hall where the beginning of a new life awaited. Adjusting the long coat that was once a wedding present, Brianna prepared herself and headed up the steps, a hand extended and ready to grasp the door handle.

At about the time she grabbed it, another hand did so also. Surprised, Brianna glared at whoever the hand's owner was and found a blue-eyed, blonde in a black jacket staring back at her with a Wendy's takeout bag in hand.

"Excuse me," she said coldly.

"I was here first," the blonde replied though her tone of voice wasn't as strong as hers.

"Let go so I can open the damn door," Brianna stated.

"But I was here first," the blonde stated again.

"What's with your voice? Are you sick? Or do you think it'll make guys pay more attention to you or something?" Brianna questioned.

"I am from Russia. That is why I have this accent," the blonde answered.

"Or you're faking it," Brianna accused.

"I would never!" the blonde protested.

"Whatever, out of my way," Brianna spat out and jerked the door open. But then the blonde had the gall to let go of the door handle and slip in in front of her! Brianna hadn't been opening the door for that Russian floozy! How dare she?

Growling, Brianna entered City Hall, more than willing to put this little slight to a side. The blonde woman was already scurrying off to…wherever it was she was going. She could see her going up the stairs and pass the construction workers…what? What were some blue collar guys doing here and what were they doing to City Hall?! Perhaps the mayor would want to know about this…unless he already knew.

Wait, where was the mayor's office? Well, this was a little embarrassing, wasn't it? Let's see…hey, why not ask that guy that was staring at that large ugly statue over there? Maybe he knew.

Because she was going to be asking for something, Brianna thought that maybe she should be nicer than usual, not that she wasn't always nice. She just…she was just nice to people who deserved it, that's all.

"Hey, do you know where the mayor's office is?" she demanded and she jostled the man in question.

"Hmm? What?" Brown eyes that had once been clouded over refocused as they took her in.

"I was hoping you could help me…" Brianna, for some reason, had a feeling that this guy wasn't going to be helpful. He had that glazed look about him; probably some druggie trying to get some government assistance or something.

"Oh, sure," the man shrugged broad shoulders that were covered by the dark blue uniform he wore. "Was lost in thought for a bit, but yeah, what do you need?"

"I'm looking for the mayor's office," she stated.

"I was on my way there," the man said. "I just have problems seeing this statue here and…well, can't help but think of times long since passed."

"I'll bet," Brianna muttered under her breath.

"There won't be another one like him," the man continued, looking back at the ugly statue of this fat guy dressed in some kind of flying rat costume. Say, were those sunglasses over his eyes? "Officer Barbrady sure loved this town. It's a shame that he had to make the ultimate sacrifice for it. But you probably don't want to hear a guy like me ramble over it like some kind of war veteran…though that's what it was then. War."

Okay, now this guy was creeping her out.

"Anyway, Mayor's office is this way," the man said and he took the lead, heading for the stairs that that blonde from earlier had taken. Hmm, what were the odds that that blonde could be…?

No, she mustn't think like that yet. There was no proof that Mayor Achristos would even go for a slutty blonde with a fake Russian accent, because she was sure that accent was indeed fake. Someone like Damien Achristos had better tastes than that.

Getting away from all the scaffolding and workmen that were lazing about all over the place, the man was leading her down a much cleaner and more quieter hallway. Ah, now this was much better. She didn't have to look at those losers back there anymore.

Her improvement in mood soured, though, as that blonde from earlier came back into view, looking lost. The way she had been moving earlier, Brianna could have sworn that slut had been in this place more than once. Aw, did the bimbo have no sense of direction? Served her right.

Of course, the blonde had to spot them and over she came. "Um, sir? Do you know if Kyle—I mean Mr. Broflovski is in?"

"I just got here so I don't know," the man replied, taking off the hat that had been on his head and scratched at the brown hair on his head. Huh, that hat looked like the kind that cops wore. Hadn't noticed it earlier but why should she? This guy was beneath her notice in the first place though now that she was getting a better look at him, he was a bit handsome in a rugged kind of way.

Hey, she could still look. She hadn't taken any vows of celibacy yet, you know.

"Maybe he's with the mayor, if he's not in his office," the man/probable cop suggested. "I'm on my way there right now. This young woman's also coming along so how about we take care of three birds with one stone?"

"Is it not two birds and one stone?" the blonde asked and Goddamn it, could she make that accent anymore obvious?

"Well, there's three of us and not two," the man shrugged.

"Oh." The blonde nodded dumbly and Brianna almost let out a sneer. Not that she wasn't above doing so but who knew if the mayor was here and just about to walk around the corner? It wouldn't do for him to see an ugly side of her, especially since she was trying to win him over.

"This way," the man once again took the lead.

"Are you a cop?" the blonde asked, falling in line beside him.

"Yep. Officer Marcus Cole, at your service," the cop introduced himself. "Though, most people call me Officer Marcus for some reason. I guess my superior rubbed off of them enough that they went along with it."

"And who's your superior?" the blonde asked.

"Well, he's not my superior anymore but I never got over thinking of him as that," Marcus admitted. "You know that statue out in the lobby? That was made for him when he gave up his life for this town."

"What happened?" the blonde asked and Brianna was getting more and more irritated. She didn't need this cop's life story! Though she wasn't going to say that out loud. He was cop; why would she want to make an enemy out of them?

"Tom Hardy and some…celebrities held the town hostage with a nuclear bomb," Marcus explained solemnly. "Barbrady was the one to get it out of town but…in order to get far enough away so that the bomb didn't destroy the town, he would have to drive the truck we put it in until it blew up. At least, that's what I was told later. There's never been a greater hero than him, that's for sure."

"That was such a good story," the blond sniffed, apparently overcome by Marcus' story.

"Yeah, well, after he was gone, it was up to me to take charge of the police department here," Marcus sighed. "That's why I'm here today; budget issues and whatever else comes with running the South Park Police Department. I've had this meeting scheduled since yesterday…"

At that point, Brianna tuned out what the _lovely_ couple was chatting about, notice the sarcasm there. However, there was another reason why she tuned it out; from what this cop said, he had a meeting with the mayor and since he was here right now, that meant that the meeting was going to start soon, like right at the time she had chosen to visit! Of all the damn luck!

"Whoops! Almost missed it!" Marcus announced, pulling up short and almost having Brianna run into him. Warn her earlier next time asshole!

Marcus gave the door a rap and opened it as soon as he heard the "come in" uttered.

Brianna peeked around the door, hoping to get a glance of that handsome devil of a mayor. She was sorely disappointed when she saw some redheaded guy sitting in her mayor's seat, behind her mayor's desk, most likely doing her mayor's job! Was this some kind of usurpation or something?

"Um, is Mayor Achristos here, Mr. Broflovski?" Officer Marcus asked, looking around the office.

Mr. Broflovski, if that was indeed his real name, looked up and then groaned. "Crap, sorry, but the mayor had to go run a…uh…an important errand. But come in, I think he'll let me take care of things until he gets back, at least the stuff with the police department."

"Are you sure?" Officer Marcus asked. "I can come back later…"

"No, no, it's best we do this as quickly as possible," Mr. Broflovski said. He tilted his head to a side and then asked curiously, "Anna? What are you doing here?"

The blonde lit up and Brianna knew that this Mr. Broflovski was addressing her. You mean to tell her that this blonde bimbo was here to see this guy and not the mayor? Somebody break the news to her because you came to City Hall to see the mayor, not whoever this guy was.

"Oh yeah, before I forget," Marcus snapped his fingers. "These two ladies were looking for the Mayor Achristos. Or at least, one of them was. Anna was it? Anna here was looking for you, not the mayor."

"I brought you lunch!" Anna exclaimed as she held out the Wendy's bag. "No bacon!"

"Is it that time?" Mr. Broflovski wondered. "Well, come on and bring it here. Officer Marcus? You don't mind if I…?"

"Well, if you forgot to eat, I don't mind," Marucs shrugged. "I just might have to stop over at Wendy's when I leave."

Oh God, would someone stop this pukingly sweet whatever-it-is? Damn it, why wasn't Damien here? Why did she get all dressed up, hide it under this coat, and then have to find out that he's not here and she wouldn't be able to lay out her charm?

It was enough to make her want to tear her hair out!

* * *

It was real simple to find the entrance to Black Market. All Damien needed to do was follow the trailing scent of greed coming from it and jackpot. Now, he had been warned that in order to enter this "establishment" you needed a password. That or you did whatever it took to get the owner of this business to give you one.

Damien smirked at the thought that he was confined to mortal rules. The Black Market was about to get a wakeup call that it couldn't keep _everyone_ out.

Still, the element of surprise would make all the faces of horror even more enjoyable. He knocked on the metal door and waited for the slot on it to open up.

"Password," a voice ordered as soon as said slot opened.

"Let me in or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down," Damien replied in answer.

As expected, the slot shut rudely on him. Well, he had "tried" to play by the rules, hadn't he?

Raising his hand up again, this time he pressed his palm on the door. In seconds, the door began to glow red hot, the heat coming from it making the air shimmer. The redness soon turned white and then a loud boom deafened any nearby ears. The door, meanwhile, went flying into the building and Damien winced at the loud crashing sounds that followed.

Taking the time to straighten his necktie, Damien put his hands into his pockets and casually strolled on in.

No sooner was he five steps in did he take one of his hands out and catch the combat knife that was slicing through the air right at him. He narrowed his eyes at the black male on the other side of the store then raised an eyebrow at the singular strip of fuzzy hair that stretched from the mortal's forehead to the back of his neck, the sides of his head shaved bald.

He hadn't seen a do like that in a long time.

"Dude, you picked the wrong place to break into," the male said coldly as he pulled out two semi-automatic handguns from two gun holsters that were strapped to his torso. However, before he could get a shot, a hand grabbed one of the black man's wrists and pushed it to a side.

Someone roared, "Hold your fire!" but that didn't stop one shot from being fired. Thanks to the intervention, the shot missed Damien by a mile. The black man, though, was glaring at a shorter white man in suspenders and a necktie, the same person whose hand was on the black man's wrist.

"What the fuck?" the black man demanded.

"Your shots wouldn't have done anything to him," the white man said coldly. "Put those things away. Guns are of no use here."

"You seem to know something," Damien commented as he sauntered through some of the damage that the door had left in its wake.

"Why wouldn't I know that you're the Antichrist?" the white man retorted.

Damien blinked at that. Not a lot of people knew that. Those who he had met when he had been eight years old had forgotten that little fact so only a select few who were either in the know or figured it out knew this. It seemed like this white guy was in the latter group.

"You gotta be shitting me," the black man said, not putting his guns away.

"Jay, do you see where the door is now?" the white man asked.

The now-named Jay looked to where a slightly melted metal door stuck out of the wall at a ninety degree angle.

"What's your point?" he asked. "I can take this fucker down."

"Just go into the back and make yourself useful," the other man ordered. "And _don't_ touch any of the…weapons…back there. Got it?"

Jay eyed him skeptically but since the white man obviously controlled his paycheck, he shrugged and holstered his guns. "Your funeral," he grumbled as he stomped out.

"Ungrateful," the white man grumbled.

"I'm presuming you're Wolf Black, aren't you?" Damien asked casually.

"You presume correctly," Wolf answered calmly. Glancing at the remains of his door, he added, "You're paying for that, you know."

"We'll see," Damien replied dismissively.

Wolf grunted but then greeted, "Welcome to Black Market. How may I help you?"

"Well, since you put it like that…" Damien trailed off. "I hear that you are accepting souls as a form of payment. Is that true?"

"Yep," Wolf confirmed as if it was no big deal.

"I see…and how many souls have you taken so far?" Damien asked.

"That is none of your business," Wolf retorted.

"Oh, I believe it is," Damien said, using his actual voice instead of his deepened one. Red streaks flashed behind his brown contacts and it seemed as if everything around him was taking on a darker pall. "You see, there is a very good chance that you might be snatching up one too many. We are willing to let a few here and there go but when it starts catching the attention of the Morning Star himself, that's when it's a problem."

"Is that so?" Wolf mused, hand under his chin. "But I can assure you that whatever souls I get, they aren't many. I mean, they can hardly put a dent in the number that actually go—"

"Hey! Where am I? Whoa, are those _real_ Ming vases? And at such a low, low price!"

"Please! Please don't hurt me! Take whatever you—wait, where am I? What am I doing—no way! I've been looking for that forever! And it's so cheap too!"

"What is this place? What am I doing here? Is this heaven? Because it doesn't look like a city in the clouds. Say, do my eyes deceive me or is that disco ball genuine? Because that price can't absolutely be real."

One by one, three souls happened to pop right up in the middle of Black Market. Damien gave Wolf a look and Wolf looked like he wanted to hit something. "Excuse me for one moment," he said as he marched over to the three souls. Damien's eyes widened marginally as Wolf grabbed each soul and threw them at the back wall, ignoring the protests and cries while adding, "I will deal with you later!" Coming back over to Damien and smoothing down his hair, he then said, "Now where was I?"

"Is that a normal occurrence?" Damien asked.

"Why do you ask?" Wolf asked in reply.

Deciding that he had been cordial enough, Damien grabbed this mortal fool by his stupid-looking suspenders and physically pulled Wolf to him. He had his face mere inches away from this moronic man and that was when an odd smell entered his nostrils. It was…familiar but now was not the time for him to dwell on it.

"I want you to release those souls. Now," Damien snarled into Wolf's face.

Instead of verbally answering, Wolf pointed to a small sign on an undamaged wall.

_NO REFUNDS_

Curses.

"Nothing in this world is free, _Damien_," Wolf said smugly. "I might be willing to part with the souls that I have so far…"

"But it's not going to stop you from collecting other souls that have yet to come, will it?" Damien stated more than asked. "I will not make any deals with you mortal. That is if you really are a mortal."

"Whatever makes you say that?" Wolf remarked. "I certainly look like a human. I talk like a human. I most certainty fuck like a human."

"Bullshit, you're a virgin. I can smell it off you," Damien smirked cruelly.

"Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to smell secrets off of someone?" Wolf frowned at him, looking away pointedly from Damien, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

An odd thing to say… There was more to this Wolf character that what was obvious. "So you admit that you haven't gotten laid," Damien said, deciding to taunt than to look further into that observation. "A shame. You have no idea what you are missing."

"Is it all it's hyped up to be?" Wolf asked curiously.

"You have no idea," Damien smirked, recalling some fun times. "Excuse me, my mind wandered for a moment."

"I'm sure it did," Wolf pouted, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"Enough with the chit chat, I do hope you reconsider your no refund policy. Otherwise, things might just have to get ugly real fast," Damien said.

"What's your definition of ugly?" Wolf retorted. Making a show of looking around his somewhat trashed store, he added, "Is this not ugly to you?"

"No, this is me just saying 'hello,'" Damien said serenely. "When I say ugly, I mean I'm coming back here with a few of my father's choice demons and we're really going to let the place have it."

"You go do that," Wolf challenged. "Go run back to daddy. I am not releasing those souls and I am not going to stop accepting souls either."

"It's your funeral," Damien threatened. He released Wolf by shoving him away. Taking the time to straighten himself, he stalked out of Black Market, ignoring Wolf's shouts at him to pay for the door.

If Wolf Black wanted to play hardball, then he should know that Damien only plays with the kinds of balls that have spikes on them.

* * *

Being in a large room filled with souls wasn't as bad as Bonnie was expecting. It was a bit boring at times seeing as how you didn't need to eat or sleep and you couldn't sit down as you were always floating in the air at all times.

She had gotten used to this situation primarily because she had no choice and what else could she do?

At the very least, she had made a new friend.

This friend was a young woman who was called Krisa Sladen. In life, she had had brownish-blonde hair that went just passed her shoulders and the reddest bangs you have ever seen. Whether it was dye, natural, or blood from her death staining it, Bonnie had no idea and that was further complicated by the greenish mist everyone here seemed to emit. Krisa also had a fondness for the band _Avenged Sevenfold_ and a taste for Doritos Locos Tacos. Bonnie only knew that because Krisa told her that.

And also Krisa was constantly either humming or singing under her breath the lyrics to an Avenged Sevenfold song called _Nightmare_. To be honest, it somewhat summed up what was happening, just without all the torture and whatnot.

When asked what Krisa had sold her soul for, Krisa had been very forth coming with it. "Power. Absolute power. The kind of power to strike back at society for making my life miserable. Who would have thought that Black Market was selling absolute power for the cheap price of $29.99? But then the sleazy owner offered to sell it to me for the price of my soul and I couldn't resist! I thought it was stupid on his part."

"So what did you do with all that power?" Bonnie had wondered.

"I didn't get fifty feet away from that place when I got hit by a bus," Krisa had grumbled.

"At least it was quick," Bonnie had said, trying to look on the bright side of things.

"Please, I didn't die right away," Krisa seethed. "The power must have been keeping me alive because I was stuck in the bus's engine for who knows how long. And then when it stopped, the last thing I heard was the voice of the asshole driving it! He was some fat disgruntled guy who accused me of thinking I was better than him and demanded I get out of the engine before he got out his whoppin' stick. Next thing I know, I'm back in the Black Market and there's Wolf dragging me to this room, my power gone."

That bus driver she had mentioned…sounded real familiar. She stopped that train of thought because, hey, it was repression after all.

After she had gotten to know Krisa, Bonnie had gotten it into her head that maybe there was some way out of this place. She had dragged her new friend all over it but it was for nothing. Krisa then told her that she had already tried before. She also said that she had tried to stop her, Bonnie, from doing it but she, Bonnie, had been so determined.

And that was the first twelve hours here.

Oy, it was soooo boring! She never thought that her afterlife was going to be like _this_!

"So what did you sell your soul for?" Krisa asked from beside her.

Bonnie flushed in embarrassment, or would have if she still had skin, tissue, and blood to do such a thing. So only her naturally green eyes reflected the emotion.

"Ooh, it must be juicy," Krisa grinned at her. "Go ahead, tell me already. It's not like there's anything else here to do or go to. I promise, I'll try hard not to laugh."

"That's so encouraging," Bonnie mumbled.

"What was that? You need to speak louder," Krisa said. "Go on. Tell me."

Krisa was right; there was nothing else to do or nowhere to go. They were stuck here and it was either bemoan her fate along with half the other souls here, get up to mischief like a quarter were, or do absolutely nothing like the rest were.

It was a simple decision to make.

"I sold my soul so that Wolf would make me a super PAC that I could use to try and get elected as Prom Queen for my senior prom," Bonnie said.

Krisa stared at her slack-jawed. "What?"

"I'm not repeating!" Bonnie exclaimed, looking away. "It's…it's just too embarrassing to admit! Besides, everyone else was doing it!"

"Where did you grow up?" Krisa asked. "You know what, it's best I don't know. I don't think I want to know."

"You know, it sounds an awfully lot like what would happen in the town I grew up in."

That was a different voice. Bonnie looked up at Krisa, wondering if that was her who used the voice but Krisa was giving her the same look. Then as one, the two of them looked to a side and then down at a small, preppy-dressed boy who wore a cap on his head. He was smiling at them like they would become his friend if he did so and Bonnie felt this air of politeness all around him. That and she could have sworn that she had seen him from somewhere before…

"I don't think anybody was talking to you," Krisa stated.

"Oh! Pardon me then. It's just when I overheard you, accidentally that is, I couldn't help but think about the place I grew up in," the boy said and the more he spoke, there was a bit of an accent in there.

"Are you French?" Bonnie asked.

"I'm not bloody French! I hate the French just like everybody else!" the boy declared, affronted.

"Yeah, yeah, go bother someone else Frenchie," Krisa dismissed him.

"Well, that wasn't very polite of you," the boy said stiffly. It sounded like he was going to float away but then there he was, right there next to them and not going anywhere.

"Isn't this the part where you go away and leave us alone?" Krisa asked, irritated.

"And go where? Do what?" the boy retorted bitterly. "I've been here longer than anybody here but does anybody take the time to be nice to little Pip Pirrup? No sirree, they don't!"

And then it clicked in Bonnie's head.

"Pip?!" she exclaimed incredulously. "You're here?"

"You know my name?" Pip asked, staring up at her.

"Yeah, you were the kid that I used to take turns spitting on during recess!" Bonnie declared. Glancing over at Krisa, she felt the need to say, "I was eight at the time. I didn't know any better."

"Oh, it's all right. Everybody spit on me during recess!" Pip chirped.

"How…nice," Krisa mumbled.

"Whatever happened to you? You just disappeared one day," Bonnie engaged him in conversation.

"Well, naturally I died of course," Pip said, looking down at his nine-year old, ghostly body.

"How?" Bonnie asked.

"I tried to stand up to Mecha-Barbara Streisand. It…didn't turn out so well," Pip said, looking to a side with a grimace.

"And then you came here," Bonnie said slowly. "That was, like, twenty years ago."

"Really?" Krisa perked up. "What did you sell your soul for?"

"At the time I had a hankering for some Earl Grey tea," Pip began.

"Boring," Krisa yawned.

"Shush! I'm trying to listen!" Bonnie hushed her new friend and turned back to the boy who she, along with the rest of the school, had once bullied.

"As I was saying, I had wanted some tea and that's when I ran into Wolf Black," Pip explained. "He offered to sell it to me but I had no money on me at the time. Then he offered to sell me the tea in exchange for my soul. I didn't think much of it at the time but guess the joke's on me."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, how tragic," Krisa yawned. "So this Wolf Black has been at this for twenty years?"

"He told me once that I was the first one!" Pip admitted.

"But then why does he want souls?" Bonnie asked, looking at Krisa. "He's all about money. How would he profit off of souls?"

"That's something I didn't expect to hear out of you," Krisa said.

"I can be serious when I want to!" Bonnie pouted.

"She sure can be!" Pip backed her up. When he got a look from Krisa, he said, "Not that I would know. But I bet she can be."

"Great. Thanks a lot," Bonnie deadpanned. "Do you have anybody else you can talk to? Like, someone who's not close to us?"

"Not really," Pip shrugged. "Most people tell me to go away or screw off. I like to think that they just have a hard exterior and that'll take time before they decide to open up."

Bonnie suddenly didn't want to know how long he had been at it.

"This has been the longest conversation I've been involved with in years!" Pip continued. "Do go on and say more. I haven't been this social since…"

As Pip continued to babble on, Bonnie came to the realization that she was stuck in an afterlife with Pip Pirrup of all people yakking her ear off.

This was going to be a long afterlife.

* * *

Tammy White: **Zephyr Morpheus Lee**

Krisa Sladen: **YouReallySmellLikeDogBunsAAH HH**


	8. When the Dominos Begin to Fall

Author's Note: Something that I feel I need to clarify because I believe that most of you guys are under an incorrect belief. This is probably my fault that I didn't clarify it but now I'm doing it in an author's note. Regarding the character Brianna: this is not the same Brianna from _Stranger in those Homicidal Eyes_, _Fiends_, or _Malicious Motives_. That Brianna was Brianna Vargas who was submitted by **FunkyChicken001**. The Brianna in _The Book of Nemesis_ is actually Brianna Bower who was submitted by **herwordsdestroyedmyplanet**. So it's a completely different character who just so happens to have the same first name. Brianna Vargas was not resubmitted so she is not going to be in TBON. I hope that clears things up.

Anyway, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

When the Dominos Begin to Fall

With an ever present lazy smile on his face, Dillan exited the convenience store, a bag of Skittles and a Gatorade bottle in hand. With the sun shining out, Dillan was up quite early. Usually he'd be sleeping in as he wasn't required to be at work until about an hour before opening time. Since that was in the evenings, being up at one in the afternoon was not a common occurrence for him.

Twisting open the Gatorade bottle, he took a large gulp of it, careful about pulling it away so that it didn't catch his nose ring by accident. Long story, no time to tell it. Mmm, strawberry flavoring…

Opening the bag of Skittles, he popped a few of the fruit-flavored pellets into his mouth. It really was his favorite candy since he liked rainbows and taste the rainbow bitch. How do you think he kept up this figure that the ladies liked so much?

As he walked along the sidewalk, people would go out of their way to put some distance between them and him, not that he really cared about it. People had done that all the time and only those who really took the chance to get to know him really understood that he was a good guy. Just because he had forsaken God as his Lord and taken up Satan as his replacement didn't mean that he was some kind of monster. He paid his taxes like everyone else, one leg at a time.

A few more Skittle pellets into his mouth, mmmm, yum. Sip of the ol' red, aah.

As he passed an alley way, he heard a loud crack and that gave him pause. Now what could that be? Backing up a bit, he tilted his head backwards and looked down the alley way, narrowing his eyes to try and see better.

There was a column of red light that he could see at the far end and he continued to observe it, not knowing what it meant. Then he watched as dark figures began to emerge from it.

His Gatorade fell onto the sidewalk, the loosened cap falling off it and spilling the red-colored liquid all over.

By the Dark Prince himself…

* * *

Kenny slid his dirtied body out from underneath the car he was working on, wiping his hands with a grime-covered rag. That was another one fixed. Time to see if its owner was still around.

He headed for the small office/waiting room, still wearing a strap-on cloth air filter over his mouth. It wasn't that he needed it but sometimes various fluids would spew out into his face and it was always a bitch when it got into his mouth. Occupational hazard but he liked the air filters despite the fact that it muffled his voice like hell.

Kinda reminded him of that old parka he used to wear all the time.

Entering the small room, he saw indeed that his current customer was still in here. Conner he thought his name was. Not anybody that he knew by face since this was just another person who moved into town over the years. However, before he could attend to him, he noticed out of peripheral that a truck was pulling up to the garage.

Oh no, Cartman. He recognized that truck anywhere due to the fact that he was always fixing it up and Cartman kept stiffing him on his bills. How many IOUs had he accepted already in the gullible belief that one day, just one day, Cartman would pay them? One too many and if he wasn't going to be paying for five of them today, there was no way he was working on that piece of shit truck, childhood friend or not.

"Kenneh! Fucking AC went out on me again!" Cartman roared at him from the driver side window. "And the damn window's stuck too!"

"I'm helping somebody else right now, please wait a moment," Kenny said neutrally as possible. That was when he noticed how tense Conner over here was. What was that all about?

"Who gives a fuck about that? I need help now!" Cartman complained.

Kenny sighed and proceeded to ignore him as he walked up to his makeshift "cashier's counter" which was little more than a folding-leg table with a circa 2004 cash register on it. Kenny knew he should invest in a more hi-tech system of money-keeping but it was really all he could do to make sure this garage of his stayed up and running. It wasn't like he was backed-up and needed more help or anything.

"Alright so that was just a standard oil change and axel rotation," Kenny stated to his _paying_ customer, hitting a few select buttons on the register. "I recommend getting that axel looked at in the next month. Did what I could for now but it's best—"

"What the fuck Kenny? You're helping out a fag over me?" Cartman demanded form the doorway, glaring over at Conner who was trading him look for look.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" Conner spat at the career plumber.

"Of course I am helping him before you," Kenny cut in before anything could escalate. "Unlike you, he's a _paying_ customer. As in he actually _pays_ me for my services. He actually has some cash on hand to _pay_ me with."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Cartman huffed.

"Cartman, I know that you're more strapped for cash than you let on," Kenny said, leaning forward slightly and staring the plumber right in the eye. "But I have to make a living too. I can't just do some body work for you and then you not pay me. I've been a nice guy, really. I've even given you discounts. But you owe me almost 2Gs and there comes a point when I either put my foot down and say no more or I find myself back in the poorhouse, i.e. my parent's house. If you can pay me three hundred bucks now, I'd fix your AC in a jiffy but until you do, I am not going to touch that truck with a ten foot pole."

"Kenny. How can you be such a tightwad?" Cartman stated, his body slumping.

"No! No, no, no, no! You do not get to do that! You don't get to shame me again!" Kenny snapped. "You do this every time!"

"God Kenny, don't be such a money-grubbing Jew!" Cartman complained.

"At least the Jew that I know _pays_ his bills. And he does with _money_," Kenny emphasized. "Money I can use to keep this place up. Money I can use to buy food. Money I can use to pay for my apartment."

"What? That dirty Jew is sharing with you and not me? That two-faced, lying, son of a bitch!" Cartman yelled.

"Lying? When he'd do that?" Kenny demanded.

"Every time he opens his mouth to speak," Cartman explained.

"You're so freaking paranoid," Kenny stated. "Doesn't change the fact that if I don't see some green, guess who has to go without good ol' air conditioning?"

"You know what Kenny. You should convert," Cartman told him. "You're already greedy. Might as well make it official and become a no-good, dirty Jew! Because that's what you are!"

"Do you have any cash on you?" Kenny sighed, rubbing his forehead. He swore that this fat bastard was going to give him wrinkles and that was a major mood-killer when he came to sexing up a pretty woman. Or at least it was with the kind of girls he usually flirted with.

"There's that greediness right now!" Cartman exclaimed, pointing a chubby finger at him. "Not only are you greedy but you support homos! Don't think I forgot about you, fag."

"Do I need to get a restraining order?" Conner demanded from his seat where he had been this whole time, watching the two of them go at it.

"Get out of here. You're frightening the _paying_ customer," Kenny ordered, whipping an arm out and pointing towards one of the large garage doors.

"Fine! If that's how it's going to be, fine!" Cartman spat, both in the metaphorical and the literal. Kenny could only focus on the wad of spit as it splattered on the floor. "I'm going to expose you and your Jew-ness to the world. Then we'll see how long you'll last Kenny! Mark my words, you'll be bankrupt by the end of the week!"

Kenny remained where he was, staring heatedly as Cartman pulled out and back onto the street and gassed the engine, taking off. Well, at least he hadn't gone forward and wrecked Conner's car. Best if he got the little guy out of here before it occurred to Cartman and he came rushing back.

"Sorry about that," Kenny apologized, giving Conner a wry smile.

"Don't worry about it. My neighbor keeps bringing him over to her house to 'fix' her plumbing problems," Conner replied. "I've had to deal with him harassing me whenever he comes over and spots me. He's got some kind of gaydar, I swear."

"You mean you really are gay?" Kenny blinked. "Well, I hope other than him, things are going good for you."

"They're fine," Conner sighed. "So how much do I owe you?"

Right, the important stuff. Glancing back towards the garage's doors, he suddenly had a feeling, like his gut was trying to tell him something. Something bad was coming…

He shook his head. Now was not the time for that. He was in his day job for Christ's sake! Only his secret night life could respond to it! Er, secret night life, what secret…oh what was the use? Anybody reading this already knew. No need to say secret, eh?

Still, he'd go out on patrol and stay out a little longer. His gut turned out to be right more times than often when it came to these things.

* * *

Walking down the hallway, Kyle smoothed his hair, taking in a deep breath as he returned from his break. He couldn't do Damien's duties all the time while taking care of his own. Even he needed to take a break every once in a while.

As he approached the Mayor's office, he caught sight of a funny sight, and if that was a pun it wasn't intended. Somewhat crouched in front of Damien's office was some guy in a black hoodie and…say, wasn't he that Dillan guy? Yeah, he had seen him at the reunion last night, mostly talking with Craig but yeah. What was he doing here and, well, what was he doing?

"Ahem," he politely coughed behind the guy. Dillan jumped and almost hit his head against the door but managed to recover quickly. Surprised blue eyes looked straight at him and Kyle traded back an unimpressed expression. "What are you doing?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Um, I, uh, eh…" Dillan made a bunch of noises and seemed to be stumbling over what words to say.

"Take your time, I've got all day," Kyle said blandly, if not a little bit sarcastically.

"I was just…uh…" Again with the stumbling. At least he was forming coherent words now.

"I've got to go in there," Kyle said, moving around Dillan and grasping the door handle.

"No, no, no, wait!" Dillan tried to caution him but it was too late.

Kyle opened the door.

Kyle froze in the doorway at the sight before him.

Kyle continually blinked his eyes as if it would make whatever it was that was in front of him go away but sadly it wasn't going away.

From behind him, Dillan peeked over his shoulder, unable to see the expression on Kyle's face and thus not able to see the storm that was brewing.

"DAMIEN!" Kyle roared, anger becoming his default reaction. "What the hell is this?"

Surrounded by various monstrous demons, Damien looked back at him with a look that clearly said "uh oh…" He was the proverbial kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Master Damien, who is this human with the loud, shrill voice?" one of the demons asked, eyeing him with disdain. "Shall I slaughter him?"

"Do so and I will make the rest of your existence an eternal torture from which there will be _no_ escape," Damien snapped at the demon with his normal high pitched voice, glaring him down. "He is to remain untouched by any of you, do you understand?"

When the demons were hesitant, Damien made his dark presence known.

"_Well?_"

"Yes Master Damien," all the demons intoned sulkily.

From behind Kyle, Dillan asked softly, "Is that his real voice?" It was obvious that he was in awe of this creature before him.

Kyle, on the other hand, was not shaken, awed, or anything that might form an iota of respect from him. He was not impressed and underscored that by marching straight through the gathering of demonic monsters and slamming both hands onto Damien's desk, the only barrier that existed between him and the Antichrist. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Why are they here? Haven't you taken care of that business of your father's already?"

"That's why they are here," Damien answered though it was audible that he was a bit…cowed by the image of the furious Jew. "Turns out that it is the Black Market that's behind the shortage of souls; the mortal known as Wolf Black is snatching up every one he can get his hands on. Unfortunately, Black Market has a policy of no refunds and thus I've had to explain the situation to my father. And that is why these lackeys are here. We're planning war strategy on Black Market."

"Ey, we're not lackeys!" one of the demons protested, not the one that had first spoken.

Damien aimed a stern eye at that particular demon who shrank in on himself in submission.

"So, what you're telling me is," Kyle said slowly, taking short pauses here and there, "you, haven't, resolved this situation with the Black Market. That's, what you are telling me. Right?"

"That would be correct," Damien confirmed.

"And now," Kyle continued in that halting rhythm of his, "we have, _demons_, in the Mayor's office. And you are, planning strategy, for some kind of offensive, against the Black Market, because it is swiping too many souls. Have I summed it up?"

"You did a pretty good job," Damien answered appraisingly.

"And I bet you expect me to continue satisfying _your_ duties as the mayor of South Park," Kyle finished, getting out of that jerking way of speaking.

"Well, I had hoped…" Damien attempted to convey the affirmative.

The anger seemingly bleeding out of him, Kyle slumped forward and raised a hand to his forehead, kneading the skin under his fingertips. "You know, you better fucking make this up to me you unnatural source of evil and misery."

"Isn't there some kind of position where there's like a Vice-Mayor or assistant mayor that can take my place?" Damien asked, sounding more like a concerned spouse than the future ruler of the realm of Hell.

"Yeah. That's _my_ position," Kyle answered. "Just…go do what you have to do. I'll take care of everything. Like usual."

"It sounds to me like you need a break," Damien said as he got out of his seat and moved around his desk, his demonic minions moving out of his way. "I'm sure one of these _fine_ demons will aide you in this time of need." His red eyes singled out a particular gray skinned demon who towered over the rest in the room as well as appeared more humanoid in appearance. "Dantalion here would be happy to aid you in your time of need, correct?"

The demon in question, Dantalion, looked offended at being singled out but acquiesced to the Antichrist's "suggestion."

Damien's eyes returned to Kyle and softened at the dubious look that Kyle was giving the demon. "This will all be over before you know it Kyle. We'll be back to business as usual in no time."

"I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or not," Kyle retorted.

"So stubborn," Damien teased, his eyes flickering over Kyle's shoulder for a second. "And who is your shadow back there? It seems to me he's been watching us for quite some time."

"Shadow? Oh, you mean Dillan," Kyle said. "I found him hanging around outside the door. I think he was trying to listen in or something."

"A spy?" Damien frowned.

"Infiltrators must be slain!" an armored, red-skinned demon declared as it unsheathed a large, curved sword in preparation of a possible beheading. The other demons were getting antsy as well, turning malicious eyes towards the second interloper.

However, instead of doing something a sane person would do, like running for his life, Dillan instead flung himself before Damien, and in turn Kyle, bowing/kneeling so low that his face was close to fusing with the carpeting. "My lord and master, it is an honor to bask in your unholy presence!"

Damien blinked at the young man, his fellow demons somewhat stumped by the action. Kyle was also stumped but after wracking his brain for some kind of explanation, he recalled an important fact that essentially defined this guy.

Of course, Damien had to speak up before Kyle could mention it. "What are you doing?"

"I am a worshiper of your Dark Father!" Dillan proclaimed proudly, displaying his inverted cross for all to see. "And you are His son! The true Antichrist in the flesh! I am honored to finally meet you!"

"He's a Satanist," Kyle explained.

"Ah, so he's an admirer of my father," Damien mused out loud. The demons around them seemed to relax somewhat though they were still keeping an eye on Dillan, ready and willing to slaughter the mortal in an instant.

"He is the only truth in this world," Dillan stated, daring to look up and into Damien's eyes. Kyle only now noticed that Damien wasn't wearing his contacts but due to their company, decided not to call him out on it.

"Hmm…he might be useful," Damien said as he held a hand to his chin while his other arm was unobtrusively making its way around Kyle.

"What are you talking about?" Kyle wondered, giving Damien a look.

"He might prove to be excellent bait to lure out that corrupt mortal, Wolf Black," Damien said. "His greed will be the rope that we can use to pull him out into the open. We can trick him into leaving his sanctum where he has home field advantage. Perhaps that would be a better plan than to invade Black Market."

"I would be honored to be your live bait," Dillan said. "Anything for my dark master."

"Jesus Christ," Kyle moaned and rubbed at his eyes.

"That name will do you no good here," Damien teased as he pulled Kyle against him.

* * *

At last he was here. No more obstacles. No more wild goose chases. He was right in front of Kyra's door and she was bound to be on the other side of it.

Adjusting himself, Stan knocked on the apartment's door and waited.

Two seconds later, he was knocking again when she hadn't answered or called out that she was coming. He tried to relax his posture, hoping to make a good impression when she finally opened the door but even after four seconds had passed after his initial knock, she hadn't answered.

Come on! He lived in a fast pace world and did things in a fast pace way! Don't leave him hanging out here!

When ten seconds had passed and he had knocked for the third time only to receive no answer, Stan was beginning to think that something was wrong. Why hadn't she answered yet? She had to be in there, she had to be! Why hadn't she answered? Why was he still standing on the wrong side of the door? Was…was she in trouble? Was she being held against her will? Or… No! No, she couldn't have!

But now that he was thinking about it, she had looked quite sad when he last saw her last night…

Oh my God! Was she in the bathtub, drowning from blood that had come out of her slit wrists? Or had she hung herself? Suicide wasn't the answer Kyra!

In full blown panic mode after only eleven seconds, Stan raised his foot up and kicked the door down. At least, he tried to. The frame of the door was pretty strong, stronger than it looked in fact. Oh, and would you look at that? There was a dirt imprint of the bottom of his shoe on the door! He was going to have to ram it open with his shoulder, wasn't he?

Oof! Damn that thing was strong. Okay, again! "What are you doing Stan?" Not now Kyra, he was trying to save your life. And again—wait a sec.

Stan paused, shoulder braced for impact and about a foot between him and the door. He stared owlishly at the sight of Kyra standing outside of her apartment, large, folded cardboard boxes tucked under an arm and key in hand.

What was she doing out here when she should be inside suffering from some kind of over-the-counter drug overdose?

"Stan? You're kinda in front of my door. Would you move so I can open it?" Kyra asked, sighing.

Stan nodded and slowly took a step back and to a side. Kyra moved in front of him and inserted the key into the lock, first in the deadbolt and then the doorknob. Ah, so that door had two locks on its side. Now it made sense.

"You might as well come in since that's what you were going to do anyway," Kyra said dismissively as she opened the door and walked in, Stan following after her. His mind that was blank already became even more blanker as he noticed that there were cardboard boxes all around the apartment. Was she moving in?

Kyra made no move to say anything to him; all she did was set down the make-it-yourself-folding cardboard boxes against the legs of a chair and returned to the front door to close it so that bugs wouldn't get in. After that she was bustling around, not saying anything. Uh, did she want him to say something first?

"What's going on?" he asked, still looking around the messy apartment owlishly.

"I'm getting ready to move," Kyra answered and left it at that.

Only now was Stan figuring out that no, Kyra wasn't trying to kill herself but was…doing something else apparently. And she wasn't being forthcoming with any answers.

"Where to?" he asked finally.

"Out of South Park," Kyra answered as she began rustling through a pile of magazine on a coffee table in the living room, putting some aside while tossing others away, reserving them for the trash.

"Where out of South Park?" Stan asked, figuring out that this was going to be more like pulling teeth.

"None of your business," Kyra answered as she unfolded a trash bag, raising it up into the air and whipping it downwards, using the air to open it up.

"Where's none of your business?" Stan asked.

Kyra paused in what she was doing and looked straight up at him. Stan stared back at her, waiting for an answer. Then it occurred to him just exactly what she had said.

"Wait, what do you mean it's none of my business?" Stan demanded. "Since when has this been none of my business?"

"Since you dropped out of college and went to New York," Kyra answered as she returned to what she was doing.

"Oh, so you're moving out of town just because I came back here? Is that it?" Stan asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"No, not at all," Kyra answered flippantly. "It's only come to my attention recently that I need to do something with my life. It has nothing to do with you."

Meaning it had everything to do with him. If there was one thing that Stan had gotten out of their relationship, it was that he knew when she was hiding something. Hey, he could learn. When he put to his mind to it. And wasn't busy living in a fast pace world. Because that's what he was, fast paced.

"Uh huh, pull the other one," he stated, moving closer to her and snatching up a hand that was reaching for a miscellaneous piece of trash that was destined for the garbage bag. "It has everything to do with me. Don't think you can fool me."

"But it's so easy to do it," Kyra said. "You have a short attention span."

"I don't have a short attention span," Stan frowned at her.

"The first time you played with me on Halo, you got killed eighteen times in a row because you couldn't get over the fact that you were playing with the person who kicked everyone's asses on multiplayer," Kyra had the audacity to remind him and holy shit she was that pwner of a player that kept kicking their asses on Xbox Live back in high school! And he had been a she the whole time! And he had played with her! And watched her crush n00bs' dreams like they were—

"Stan, you were zoning out again," Kyra commented.

What was he doing? Oh right. Now he remembered. Fast paced world, man. "Kyra, would it help if I said I was sorry?" he asked, holding his arms out in a placating manner.

"Depends, what do you mean when you say you're sorry?" Kyra replied.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you. That I forgot about you," Stan said. "It was a stupid thing of me to do. You were my girlfriend and I shouldn't have done that. I just hope we can all put it behind us and move on."

"It sounds so nice when you say it," Kyra sighed, looking away from him. With a bitter smile on her face, she said, "As long as you say you're sorry about what you said back then, maybe we could do something about this."

Wow, this was not as hard as he had thought it was going to be. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that too, what I said back then. It was rotten of me to say it," Stan apologized further.

"And what was it you said that you are apologizing for?" Kyra asked, still not looking at him.

Stan's mind drew a blank. Uh, yeah, what was it that he had said that he was apologizing for now? Um, uh, ooh, this…was not good. Damn it, damn it, what had he said back then that had gotten them into that argument in the first place?

"Stan?" Kyra asked, turning to look at him again. Taking in his face, she seemed to read his mind. "You don't even remember what you said, did you?" she stated blandly.

"Of course I do!" Stan declared defensively. "I'm sorry that I…uh…called you fat?"

The next thing Stan knew, he was outside of the apartment and the door was slamming in his face.

Well that hadn't been it.

"Kyra?" he called out, banging on the door. "Kyra! I said I was sorry!"

"You forgot!" he heard Kyra yell back from the other side of the door. "I can't forgive you if you don't even remember the horrible thing you said! I'm going to Nintendo and I'm moving on Stan! Screw you and never come back!"

"Kyra? Come on! Kyra! I said I was sorry!" Stan cried out, continuing to bang on the door.

* * *

Lattes were awesome when you needed that pick-me-up and didn't feel like drinking a crappy energy drink. At least, that was Wendy's opinion and she was sticking to it. Part Two of the reunion was taking place tonight, a get-together at a bar for some of the guys and girls that had stuck around after last night. Nothing too big or fancy and at least this time they would have alcohol to consume.

You know, to weaken those inhibitions and make some embarrassing memories for others that she could capitalize on later. In the meantime, she would enjoy this quiet time with the only other person who had been playing a big part in setting this whole thing up, Gary, and…Alice.

For some reason Alice hadn't liked her back when they were teenagers and she was still a cold towards even now. But Wendy hadn't been mean to her or anything! At least, not that she could recall…

It had been luck that Gary and her had shown up and it had been Gary who had spotted Alice and dragged her over and now it was a somewhat uncomfortable silence between the two females while Gary remained oblivious to it.

"So…are you going to be showing up for the reunion thing tonight?" Wendy asked awkwardly.

"The bar?" Alice asked back in reply. "I don't know. I think it would be better if it was a club."

Everyone's a critic.

"The only thing we could reserve around this time of year was the bar but at least we have that for the night. Only class of 2012 alumni are allowed," Wendy explained.

"They even have non-alcoholic beverages for folks that don't drink," Gary remarked, completely missing the tense atmosphere.

"That's…nice," Alice said slowly, shifting away from Gary shyly. "I may not come. I have an image to uphold and…I kinda get a little crazy when I drink. I have an image that I need to uphold else I'm the next Lindsay Lohan."

"Understandable," Gary nodded. "I'm not going to be able to show up because my folks called me up this morning and wanted me to come over this evening. Nothing too big though they were insistent about it. Sorry but I'll try to make it tomorrow if nothing else comes up."

Yeah, great, leave her to keep things together. "Do you know who's coming since you aren't going to be there?" Wendy asked. "I know Bebe is."

"Some of the guys last I recall," Gary said, eyes looking up to the ceiling in thought. "I'm positive that Stan's going to show up. Um…Clyde maybe? Craig I know is coming. Not sure about Dillan."

"You said Craig is going to show up?" Alice asked, sitting up a bit straighter though it wasn't obvious.

"That's what he said to me," Gary shrugged.

"Well…I might swing over," Alice said. "For a few minutes though. Maybe say hi to everyone who's there."

"You don't have to if you feel like you're going out of your way," Gary said. "There's always tomorrow. I think some of the guys agreed to do some touch football or something sporty like that before heading out. You know, get some fun in before we all go back to our lives."

"Didn't you have a crush on Craig?" Wendy mentioned. "Back in high school I mean."

Alice just gave her look and stood up, taking her leave without another word.

"Huh, was it something I said?" Wendy wondered.

"Beats me," Gary shrugged. "Maybe she has to be somewhere."

* * *

When the sun had set and darkness had taken hold of South Park, it was a whole different jungle that existed. The less savory characters of society began to come out of the woodwork and for others their inhibitions were lowered.

But South Park wasn't completely defenseless, oh no. It had a silent guardian that watched over it, night after night with the sole purpose of protecting it.

Crouched on top of one of the buildings that made up Main Street, an arm propped up on a knee, the cloaked and caped figure that was Mysterion glared out into the night, searching for any aberrations that sought to disturb the peace of his city. He worked alone now, all by himself, but there were times he wouldn't have it any other way.

Once there had been another who had gained the resolve to help him in his self-appointed mission. Le Chat Noir she called herself. Alas, she left years ago, moving away from South Park but he had heard that she hadn't given up the night life completely. There was some talk of a feline-themed vigilante over in Nevada last he heard. Hopefully she was taking care of herself and the city she had chosen to reside in.

Funny how she moved about the same time as her close friend did. It was almost as if Roxi couldn't stay away from Mari for a long amount of time.

That was neither here nor there anymore. What was was that it was another calm night. Even though his instincts had warned him earlier that something was up, this night belied the tension that he felt. He trusted his instincts and he could feel that this calm was preceding some storm that was approaching them. He trusted them enough that he was skipping out on the reunion stuff going on at the local bar.

He had gone to a few "underworld contacts" that he had managed to cultivate over the years but there was nothing going on in South Park's darker corners. Still, he felt on edge and he had nothing that could sit there in front of him and say that it was responsible.

Hmm? What was that? His body tensed and he lifted his head up in alert, peering through the night at something that had caught his attention. Down there, some distance down the street, he could see a figure…and it was shaking something in its hand. Spray can. Another person trying to graffiti again, huh?

There was no crime too small for Mysterion and this is where it started. Perhaps a little scaring and some scolding and this asshole ought to be cowed for the next week before trying to pull this stunt. It was never a dull night, was it? At least this would distract him from that bad feeling he was having.

And he was off, scrambling down the rooftops of South Park and towards this latest would-be lawbreaker. In no time at all, he was above his prey and without pausing, he turned a sharp right and leapt off the building, angling his fall so that he landed on the roof of a nearby car.

At least, that had been the plan. As soon as he made his right, his foot landed on a banana peel of all things and you can guess what happened next. Footing unstable, his momentum carried him over the edge of the building and out into the open air. However, he didn't panic.

He brought his limbs close to his body and twirled his body around so that he could gain some modicum of control over his descent. On his feet he landed, his body going into a roll and stopping in a crouch. Out in the middle of the street now, he was no worse for wear because of this stunt. He was getting better at this.

The truck that ran him over came out of nowhere and the next thing Mysterion knew, he was in a plane of clouds, a radiant golden gate situated before him.

This place again? Crap, he had died again, hadn't he? And he didn't get to stop that graffiti-er had he?

"Welcome back Kenny."

Yeah, they were on a first name basis weren't they? It was St. Peter all right, balding and bearded as always.

"What am I doing here?" Mysterion sighed, not reverting back into his alter ego. He was dressed as Mysterion and this identity of his didn't get to play much, especially since his alter required much more time and attention so that he could make a living.

"My God, your voice has changed so drastically since the last time you were here," St. Peter remarked. Pausing for a moment, he then wondered out loud, "When was the last time you were here?"

"How long is this going to last this time?" Mysterion decided to get to the point as he strolled towards the gatekeeper and passed the Pearly Gates as they were called. "Is it the same as it always is? Because I'm tired of waking up at my parents' house. It's totally lame and I have a day job that I have to get back to."

"You whippersnappers grow up so fast," St. Peter remarked.

"Now is not the time for you to reminisce Peter," the voice of a harried Archangel Michael intervened. Mysterion found himself blinking at that. It was rare that Michael appeared at the gates, what with how self-important he was. "We have more important things to deal with than—who the hell is that? I thought it was Kenny we were killing!"

Mysterion sighed. Yeah, this hadn't been the first time that he had died while garbed as Mysterion. You would think the guys who documented the lives of every single person on Earth down to the most minute detail that frankly resembled the obsessiveness of a stalker would know that he was both Kenny McCormick and Mysterion. Fortunately, there was an easy fix to this.

He removed his hood though he kept on his mask and temporarily discarded his Mysterion voice for his regular Kenny voice. "No, no you killed the right guy."

"Oh, so we did kill you," Michael remarked.

"Bastards," Kenny said under his breath.

"Come Kenny, there is much to talk about," Michael explained as he turned his back on the gates and headed towards the city of Heaven itself. Kenny pulled his hood back over his head and stalked after Michael, wondering what the hell they wanted with him this time.

"Freaking spoilsport," Peter grumbled as he made to shut the gates.

The trek back to the city was quiet despite the fact that Michael had said that there was much to talk about. Mysterion passively glanced at the bright surroundings he was in, noting the various angels and Mormons that milled about, a few of them pausing in their routines to eye him. He heard more than a few "who the hell is that?" and he grinded his teeth each time he heard it.

Sometimes he wondered if these guys were worth saving.

"Michael!" one of the angels hailed and Mysterion recognized him as the shirtless and muscular Uriel. One of the few disbelievers he had, that is if you could call him one of those. He had proven himself many a time so the guy tolerated and respected him at alternating degrees. The guy was more brawn than brain if he did say so himself. "Is Kenny here? I can't believe you made me transubstanciate and try to, erg, commit a minor misdemeanor and—oh my God, is that Mysterion? Can I have your autograph? I am your biggest fan!"

See what he meant?

He held out his gloved hands for the typical autograph book and pen that fans always seemed to carry with them. Uriel proved to be no different. He put down his John Hancock all the while Uriel praised and regaled him with past exploits of his. It wasn't like he needed to be reminded of them all; he had been there for them after all.

"This is the best day of my life!" Uriel gushed as Mysterion returned the autograph book and pen. "I will treasure this forever." Mysterion took off his hood. "Kenny? When did you get here? Where did Mysterion go?"

"Quite the disappearing act," Michael commented even though he had watched the whole thing, including Mysterion's de-hooding. "We could all learn a thing or two. Now Kenny, we have much to discuss."

"Indeed," Uriel agreed.

"So what is it this time?" Kenny asked, this time not returning to his Mysterion persona. It was just too much work.

"Hell is up to something, Kenny," Michael said. "For over two millennia, we have known that the apocalypse was an inevitability. Thus we have been preparing so that we can see humanity through the hard times ahead."

"Does any of this have to do with the Antichrist running for public office?" Kenny asked.

"That was always the plan," Michael answered. "As was foretold in the Book of Revelations, the spawn of Satan himself would manipulate humanity to the brink of destruction, the apocalypse. Humanity would balance on the cusp and thus decide whether it will choose to save or doom itself. In order for humanity to have a chance at saving itself, we have made arrangements for there to be rescuer of sorts, a messiah if you would."

"The Second Coming," Kenny commented.

"Right," Michael confirmed. "There's also supposed to be an epic fight to the death between Christ and Antichrist that involves kung-fu and flaming swords, but half of that last sentence got edited out by self-righteous Christians who thought they knew what God thinks better than God."

"So where do I come into all this?" Kenny asked.

"It has come to our attention that the Antichrist may not be willing to follow the divine plan," Michael explained. Glancing to a side as he saw an angel flying in, wings flapping as he slowed down his flight, he said, "Gabriel will be able to tell you more."

Holding a long brass trumpet, the black-haired Gabriel greeted, "Salutations Kenny. You wouldn't happen to know where Mysterion is? I heard that he was lurking around here and I so want to get his autograph."

"Nah hah, I got it," Uriel boasted, shaking his autograph book tauntingly.

"Bastard," Gabriel said good-naturedly.

"Gabriel, if you would explain," Michael coughed, glaring at his fellow archangels.

"Explain… Oh, right," Gabriel said and then got down to business. "There has been unusual activity on Earth, Kenny. Today, it has come to my attention that some of Satan's closest advisors and generals have left Hell and entered Earth. Their demonic presence should not be there at all and it's very suspicious. They've cloistered up in the town of South Park, specifically the building known as City Hall. From what little intel we've been able to gather, they are in the midst of planning some kind of operation and you guessed it, the Antichrist himself is in charge of it."

"Is there anything else you know?" Kenny asked. "Could it be that there's a chance that this is one big misunderstanding?"

"You doubt the intelligence network of Heaven?" Gabriel said, aghast.

"And this is the guy who's our Keanu Reeves," Uriel stated skeptically.

"Look, I'm just—" Kenny began to say.

"What a dark day this is when our own Keanu Reeves doubts us," Michael swooned dramatically.

"I'm just…look, I'm just trying to learn everything about this situation that there is to know," Kenny explained, holding his hands up in surrender. "Even you yourselves said that you have little information about it."

"Yes but all our information is right," Michael declared. "Look Kenny, there is only one explanation for this unexpected defiance of the divine plan and that is that the Antichrist is so ambitious that he is flaunting his insurgence by summoning his evil father's strategists to Earth. He's planning to bring about the apocalypse early, that's the only explanation for it."

"So then what do you want me to do?" Kenny asked.

"Outside of flouting the Son of Satan's plans…well that's pretty much what we want you to do," Michael said.

"What about finding out what he's up to?" Gabriel asked.

"Yeah, that too," Michael agreed. "We want you to find out what Damien is trying to do and put an end to his premature ambitions."

"And you expect me to do that by taking down some very powerful demons," Kenny summed up.

"Even though you are our Keanu Reeves, I'm afraid that by yourself, you wouldn't be able to conquer the demons that are now on your enemy's side," Michael said, defying Kenny's expectation of a single "Yes." "Against one or two alone, you would be able to kick their asses because, hey, you're Keanu Reeves. But against the number that Damien has summoned, you're going to need support."

Kenny blinked dumbly at the archangel, not fully understanding what he meant. "What…kind of support?" he asked slowly.

"The only one that can aid you at kicking some demon ass, of course," Michael proclaimed. "Though it is too soon, I believe that we're going to have to bring in the Second Coming of Christ early."

* * *

Author's Note: Like I said, the plot heats up in Chapter 8. I bet you're all now starting to figure out some of the categories in the OC submission form. Since this is South Park, things can only go downhill from here.


	9. When's a Better Time to get Wasted?

Author's Note: Let me just say that this: if you're sensitive about the topic of religion, well, yeah. Probably a coupel things in here that a lot of people are not going to like but I would like to say that this is satire. The show itself, _South Park_, takes shots at religion every other episode. Everybody should be used to it by now. And as a future warning, there's going to be more lambasting of religion in future chapters. I mean, this story is called _The Book of Nemesis_. I think it would be implied somewhere. Well, anyway, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, sensitive religion satire

When's a Better Time to get Wasted?

The only difference tonight was that Skeeter's Bar and Cocktails was reserved. Other than that, Craig was in his usual seat though he was not surrounded by the usual company.

The company consisted of only one person and that particular person was keeping everyone else at bay. Had it not been his usual seat, Craig would have moved away to another but damn it, this was his seat. He was not going to move away just because Stan Marsh was blubbering like an idiot and making his father proud by getting plastered.

Only last night Stan was telling anybody that would listen about how great he was doing and that he lived in a fast paced world, blah, blah, blah. Ick. Yet now he was here crying like a pussy and taking gulps from the bottle of Budweiser that was in front of him. At current count, he was on his sixth but like the others, the one he was hardly nursing at all would be drained. And Craig was still nursing his first one.

If there was any other time that it would be good to get drunk, it was now. He could handle a lot, to be honest. He could handle his job, handle his wife, handle letting down his wife's expectations by not giving her the life she felt she deserved, but having to sit next to Marsh was where he drew the line.

"And—and—I don't even remember what I said that made her mad in the first place!" Stan sobbed, sagging over the bar.

"Did you call her fat? That's what usually pisses women off," Craig suggested because it was no use ignoring it. Stan being a pussy was like an incessant drill that bored into your head and never turned off. Ignoring him, pretending that he didn't exist was an exercise in futility.

"I thought so but that wasn't it," Stan continued to wail.

"Then you're out of luck, I suppose. Looks like living in a fast paced world isn't all it's cracked up to be," Craig shrugged as he took a sip of his Miller. Any time was Miller time.

If that had been meant to be comforting, it wasn't working. If only hitting it would make it shut up. But, as Craig found out once during community college, he could never just stop with one. He would land blow after blow after blow until he found himself being charged with assault. Nothing nice and boring about that.

"Why does it have to be so fast pace? Why can't it be slow once in a while?" Stan cried.

Yep, he was tipsy. Stan that is and Craig was a bit envious about that. If he was wasted, he wouldn't have to listen to this bull and that would make him sooooo happy. Besides, he had more important things to drink about, like the strained relationship with his wife and the day-to-day running of the grocery store. You know, tough blue-collar problems that rich bachelors like Marsh could never hope to understand.

And that wasn't the way he liked it.

Just, really! Some girl turns him down and Stan has to fall apart like it's the end of the world or something. That was a good point. It wasn't the end of the world. In fact, it was such a good point that Craig vocalized it.

"But it's the end of my world!" Stan lamented. "What kind of life do I have if I don't have anybody who will love me for me and come back all the way to New York where I could spoil her with all the expensive crap she wants?"

"Well, if you're offering," Craig shrugged.

Stan had half enough a mind to say, "Dude, I'm not gay. That's Kyle."

Eh, it was worth a try.

"You know Marsh, if this girl walks into the bar and sees you like this, she might not want to have anything else to do with you," Craig commented as he took another sip of his beer.

"Why'd you say that? Is she here?" Stan straightened up and scanned the bar.

"Beats the hell out of me," Craig said.

"You know Craig, you can be such the asshole," Stan grumbled as he slumped over the bar. "You're such an asshole, you know Craig? If I wasn't so drunk right now, I wouldn't have the guts to say that right now."

"You told me that when you were sober," Craig felt the need to point out, his grip on his Miller tightening.

Stan stared blearily ahead of him. "Oh yeah…"

"I don't see what you have to complain about anyway," Craig continued. "You're rich. You probably have girls falling all over you back in New York. Yet you're stuck on some girl that you left behind years ago because you were acting like a douche. Why not cut your losses and go back and have anyone of those hot women that surely exist in your new life?"

"But they're not…Kyra," Stan mumbled, his lip quivering.

"Use to be in was Wendy now Kyra. Marsh, I'd tell you to stop obsessing over a single person but I know better," Craig said.

"Wait, I know what to do!" Stan exclaimed. "I'll find someone who I can get to pretend to be my girlfriend then make sure Kyra sees me and her and then she'll get jealous and…and…oh wait, I tried this before. Didn't work out. Crap."

"Back to the drawing board I see," Craig commented and took another sip of his Miller.

"I swear, on the name of Marsh, I am going to get Kyra back," Stan swore. "It may not happen tomorrow or even tonight but I swear before I go back to New York, she's gonna be my girl again!"

"Should have known you were a delusional drunk," Craig muttered.

Stan hiccupped.

* * *

Slamming the car door shut, Gary strolled towards the front door of his parents' house, adjusting the collar of his button-up shirt as he did. It had been a bit unexpected for his parents to call him up and ask him to come over for dinner. It's not that he would have said no but for some reason, his mother had been more insistent than usual.

So yes, he was feeling a little apprehension as he approached the front door. Had something come up that they needed to talk with him about? If something had, why hadn't he have been told over the phone? Well, hopefully it wasn't something bad. Seeing as he didn't see any sign of his siblings around, either it was going to be just him or he had shown up first.

At the door, he rang the doorbell and waited for either one of his parents to answer. He relaxed his shoulders, told himself to keep calm, there was nothing going on to warrant him feeling anxious.

He heard the sound of the door knob turning before the door opened and revealed his father, the man's blond hair possessing many gray streaks in it as a show of age.

"Gary, glad you could come," his father greeted him as he moved to a side to allow his son in. "I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

"Not at all," Gary answered as he entered his parents' abode. "I'm always happy to hear from you."

"That's good, that's good," his father commented as he shut the door. "You know, we had invited someone else for dinner tonight but I suppose you could say something came up so we asked him to come by another time."

"Really? So what's going on?" Gary asked as he followed his father into the living room. To his surprise, he saw his mother sitting on the couch and without the television on. Oh, so something serious had happened hadn't it? Stay calm Gary; there was no need to start over-reacting yet.

"Gary," his mother said as she stood up from the couch and approached him, wrapping him into a hug. Gary returned it but it did nothing to relieve him of the nervousness he was feeling.

"Hello Mom. Is something wrong?" he asked, reiterating her question from before.

"How about you take a seat Gary," his father said, gesturing towards the couch. "There's…something we need to tell you. Something we haven't told anybody before and have kept from you for quite some time."

"From me?" Gary repeated. "What's going on?"

"Just take a seat first Gary. I have a feeling you're going to need it," his father answered.

Gary obeyed his father and took a seat at the far end of the couch, his parents taking the seats next to him. They looked unusually serious; typically they were more friendly and lighthearted but not…solemn. That sounded close to the right word.

"Whoo, here we are," his father said, patting his knees. "Been keeping this for a long time. Didn't think we were going to have to tell you so soon but, well…"

"What is it?" Gary asked, not in the least bit frustrated. It really looked like they were having a hard time with this.

His mother nudged his father and the two of them shared a look, communicating some kind of silent message that Gary was not a party to. "Suppose there's no need for stalling," his father sighed. Turning back towards him, his father asked, "Gary, what do you know about how people are born?"

"Well, doesn't a man and a woman have sexual relations with one another where two types of reproductive cells join together and over a period of about nine months grow from a fetus into a newborn?" Gary answered.

"That's…correct," his father answered.

"Um, are you telling me that you're not my father?" Gary asked, beginning put the clues together.

"You are such a smart boy," his father praised. "In a way, yes."

Gary blinked. Wow. Just…wow. He…had not seen that one coming. So…he was not his father's child. Then…who was it that his mother had…_relations_ with?

"It's not what you're thinking," his father said, cutting through his thoughts. "Allow me to explain. You see, while I may not have…impregnated your mother, someone, I suppose you could say not of this earth, did. That someone…is God."

"What?" Gary gaped, staring at his parents.

"It's true Gary," his mother confirmed.

"But…how?" was all Gary could get through his mouth.

"We were informed by the angel, Moronai. You do remember who Moronai is," his father began to explain.

"He was the Native American angel who visited Joseph Smith, the prophet of Mormonism," Gary answered listlessly.

"That's correct," his father nodded. "Some twenty eight years ago, we were visited by Moronai himself who informed us that your mother was…"

"With you," his mother put in.

"Oh this is harder than I thought it would be," his father moaned as he leaned forward, putting his face into his hands.

"Then maybe I can tell him."

Gary didn't recognize the voice and he spun in his seat towards where he heard it. What he found, well, he hadn't been expecting it. There was no doubt about it, standing right there was an angel. It had to be.

"Remain calm Gary, all will be explained," the angel said, his wings making him appear larger than he really was, one of his hands grasping a long, golden trumpet.

"Are you…Moronai?" Gary asked in a small voice.

"No, I am the Archangel Gabriel," the angel introduced himself.

"Gabriel!" Gary squeaked.

"That I am," Gabriel nodded. "Mr. and Mrs. Harrison? If it is alright with you, I will tell your son everything."

"That…would probably be best," his father said.

"Very well," Gabriel said. "Gary, it is as your father has said. Your true father is indeed God Himself. He was up in your mom like nobody's business and doing the dirty deed, in and out before she knew it. So technically, you were immaculately conceived even though your mother already had two children before you, you are still one of God's children."

"I…I…"Gary couldn't find the words to say anything, this was all just…

"I know, I know, it's a lot to take it," Gabriel said. "Jesus why was I the one chosen to tell him? If only Metatron wasn't being a little bitch," he muttered under his breath. Aloud, "It's not every day you are told that you are a sibling of Jesus Christ and Chuck Norris themselves. However you're going to need to get over your shock as soon as you can. There's a lot we need to do and time is not on our side."

"This is going so fast," Gary said. "I…I don't understand! I can't be the…a son of God. I'm…I'm Gary Harrison! I work at a school for Christ's sake!"

"Gary, you are more than just a school teacher, you have the blood of God running through your veins, just like your brother Jesus before you," Gabriel said. "You see Gary, _you_ are the Second Coming of Christ."

"What? I can't be!" Gary protested, standing up from his seat on the couch. "Jesus is the Second Coming! Not me!"

"And who told you that?" Gabriel rolled his eyes. "It's not my fault that some backwater hicks didn't get the translation right. I mean, Jesus has already died and resurrected once. There was nothing that said that he was going to come back and do it again. Do you know how hard and painful it is to resurrect yourself after three days? I don't but I'm sure it's a bitch."

"But, but," Gary garbled.

"But nothing. Gary, the apocalypse is going to happen and it's going to happen soon," Gabriel stated. "It was planned out a long time ago that in order to stop it, someone from the same time period was going to have to be the one to step forward, not some guy from the days of the Roman Empire. That guy is you Gary Harrison, or should I say Gary Christ?"

"I'm not Gary Christ, I'm Gary Harrison!" Gary protested. "Mom! Dad! Tell him that they have the wrong guy!"

"I am so sorry Gary," his father said, not able to look him in the eye. His mother looked to be on the verge of tears and was unable to say anything.

Gary opened and shut his mouth, unable to say anything. This was beyond him.

"Wait, wait, I think I forgot something," Gabriel said, holding a hand up. "Feathers. That's right. Completely forgot about it."

"What about…feather?" Gary's voice cracked.

Gabriel simply reached forward and plucked a pure white feather from his head. "Ever wonder where these things came from?"

Gary stared at the feather that was virtually identical to all the other ones that seemed to come from nowhere.

"You see Gary, in order to come fully into your Christ powers, you have to shed off the angel wings that are within you. No mortal messiah can have wings," Gabriel explained. "Here, let me help you with that," he added as he walked right up to Gary.

From outside the house, one could hear the sound of someone vomiting. It was loud, sounded terrible, and gave the impression that someone was coughing up a lung. There was a loud, wet sound and then nothing but silence.

Feathers fluttered all around Gary who was holding his throat but he couldn't take his blue eyes off the large, feathered, angel wing that rested messily on the carpet in front of him. There was also another wing but it had lost most of its feathers already, having shed them for ten years.

"That's not something you're going to find in the New Testament," Gabriel said, wiping a finger against his robe. "I always wondered why they edited that part out."

Gary still couldn't take his eyes off the wings but within his head, there was a clarity growing. He couldn't describe it but everything was starting to make more and more sense now and he wasn't just meaning everything that had happened in the last ten or so minutes. Just, everything, the world, meaning, any and all things one could think of.

He looked back up at Gabriel who gazed back serenely at him. "Do you understand now?"

Gary nodded his head.

"Good, now we can get down to business," Gabriel said seriously. "To be honest, you were just supposed to shed all the feathers first before you vomited up the wings and that wouldn't have happened for another twelve years or so. However, there was no other choice. You see, it goes back to your nemesis, the Antichrist. We have information that has led us to believe that he is planning to bring about the apocalypse early. This cannot be allowed, especially since mankind is not appropriately prepared."

"What do you want from me? What do you expect?" Gary demanded. "I don't understand."

"You're going to have to understand pretty quickly Gary because we don't have a lot of time," Gabriel said. "It is up to you to thwart the Antichrist's plans. You see, he has brought a few of his father's closest advisors and generals onto Earth and they need to be dealt with. Fortunately, you will not be alone in this. We have a partner lined up for you and everything."

"What? Who?" Gary asked, still behind.

Misunderstanding him, Gabriel said, "What kind of person is he? Well, let's just say that he's like…Keanu Reeves."

* * *

Charlotte was always surprised by how sharp Bain's eyes were. There was always those little things, like the heterochromaticism or the fact that he was batshit insane which were very powerful distractors that it was easy to forget that he had very good eyesight.

As he had once explained to her, whenever he did his little mind games with people, he was always analyzing their body language and make adjustments to what words he would use so that he could have maximum effect. It sounded like a lot of mumbo jumbo to her but that still didn't change the fact that even though she was speaking to him through the computer again, he was able to spot a certain bouquet of roses that she had honestly forgotten about.

"_What are those?"_

Now, even though she forgot how much of an eagle eye he had, she could recognize the little nuisances of his voice pretty well. She had to because if you weren't one step ahead of him then it sucked to be you. How he had managed to spot them…you know what, never mind. She had just finished mentioning why he saw them a couple paragraphs ago. All that matter now was that his interest was piqued and not in a good way.

And by interest, she meant suspicions.

Sighing, she answered honestly, "Some guy came over this morning and gave them to me. I thought they were too nice looking to throw away, that's all," she explained, rolling her eyes at him.

"_Are you trying to tell me something Charlotte?"_ Bain asked quietly.

"Not at all," Charlie answered. "Just get over it already."

"_No."_

Ever the fucking child, wasn't he?

"What's so wrong—" she began to ask when Bain interrupted her.

"_Whoever gave you those is trying to court you Charlotte. Are you that blind?"_ Bain stated and even from the screen, Charlie could see his eyes harden. _"They're trying to make a move on you."_

"What? You want me to get rid of them?" Charlie demanded and took a deep breath. "They smell nice."

"_Are you trying to become a whore? Because that's just a pet name," _Bain said, eyes narrowing at her.

Ah, only Bain would consider 'whore' to be a pet name. "Contrary to that word, I am not a whore. I don't go sleeping around," Charlie said. "I'm quite the prude outside the bedroom."

"_It's easy for you to say that when there's about one thousand miles between us,"_ Bain replied. _"How do I know what you do when I'm not there to keep an eye on you, hmm? For all I know, you could be doing half the town."_

"Now you're just being paranoid and I know for a fact that that's not your defining trait," Charlie said, looking at the window holding Bain's real-time image pointedly. "But…possessiveness is. I remember high school and how you tried to keep your eye on me all the time."

"_Indeed,"_ Bain agreed, looking thoughtful. Probably recalling high school as well. Apparently, in a gesture of "good faith," that is if Bain could even have good faith, he asked, _"Who gave them to you?"_

"He was black…" Charlie began, making an effort to recall the rapper with the Yankees baseball cap. "A rapper too. Um…began with an N…Nathan I think?"

"_Nathan Wilkes?" _Bain suggested a bit too fast.

Thinking about it, Charlie nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right. How would you know…?"

"_Think about it Charlotte,"_ Bain chided. _"You've spent the last ten or so years in that Godforsaken town. How many black men would know you? Not too many. Cuts it down by a lot. No Charlotte, this African American individual had to have known you from ten years ago and since most of our black classmates left town after graduation, that person had to have liked you before that point in time. The only one that was black and I caught looking at you for longer than was necessary was an individual by the name of Nathan Wilkes. And surprise, surprise, his name is everywhere as a rapper nowadays."_

Yeah, it was sometimes easy to forget that Bain was a fucking genius. His craziness often overwhelmed that little fact.

"So…he really did go to the same school as us?" Charlie asked. Nathan had mentioned that he had gone to school with then and had even mentioned some of the stuff that most people talked about back then.

"_He did."_

"And how would you know that when I didn't?" Charlie asked.

"_I made it a point to know who everyone was in our class of good ol' 2012,"_ Bain answered, saying the last few words sarcastically. _"Even back then, Nathan was a nobody. A mousy guy with an afro that belonged to the 1970s. He came out of his shell during the interceding ten years, is very successful and a performer to boot."_

"He has an afro?" Charlie asked, a bit surprised by that little piece of information. "He was wearing a hat when he came by."

"_Like I pay that much attention to the rap circuit,"_ Bain grumbled. _"There was only one time I interacted with him and that was when I saw the signs that he was going to try and make a move on you back in high school."_

Charlie was going to ask when but remembered that Bain had admitted that he had caught Nathan in the act. That meant that whatever Nathan had been trying to do, Bain most likely crushed it mercilessly. And by that, probably threatened him to the point he either had a nervous breakdown or pissed himself out of fear. Seeing how adjusted he was earlier, Charlie was leaning more towards the second option.

"_It was odd,"_ Bain remarked. _"For such a shy person, he stood his ground when I 'talked' with him. I almost got him to cry but he held it in. An accomplishment, really. But I made my _point_ and that's all that mattered. He left you alone for the rest of high school but every once in a while, I would catch him looking at you."_

"A secret admirer who remained secret, huh," Charlie commented. "I think I would have turned him down anyway."

"_But now that the cat's away, the mouse has decided to play,"_ Bain said, apparently not hearing her.

"What? Are you going to come back here to make sure he doesn't sweep me off my feet or something?" Charlie said instead.

Bain looked like he was thinking about it, and deep down, Charlie hoped he would say yes. It was hard to admit but she actually wanted to be in the same room with the psycho and not having to speak with him long distance. Man she was fucked up.

"_I don't believe I will,"_ Bain said at last. _"I should learn to trust you, shouldn't I?"_

Of all the Goddamn times…

Before she could say anything else, the doorbell rang. "Who the fuck is at the door?" she growled as she stood up and walked away from the laptop, leaving Bain to stare at the couch while she answered the door.

Opening the front door abruptly, Charlie growled, "What?"

On the other side of the wooden barrier, wouldn't you know it, it was Nathan who didn't even look put off at the greeting. "Hey Charlotte."

"Charlie," she corrected automatically. "What are you doing here?"

"Some of the guys for the reunion have gotten together at the bar. Got it reserved, you know. Could I escort you there for a drink?" Nathan answered.

The first thing Charlie wanted to say was why go all the way to a bar when she had plenty of booze in the house, locked away with adolescent-proof locks and booby traps which she so happened to have purchased from Black Market? And at a cheap price too? No thank you, she will not sell her soul you sleazy prick.

The second thing she wanted to say was why are you here and asking to go out with me?

What she ended up saying was, "No thanks, I don't like the nuts."

Nathan stared at her dumbly, blinking his eyes as he tried to comprehend the meaning of her words. It was fascinating a bit to watch someone who really didn't know her ways of communicating and get that lost look.

"Uh, I'm sure they get their nuts from the same place as everywhere else," Nathan said slowly.

"I wasn't talking about the peanuts," Charlie replied.

"Wasn't…oh, I get it!" Like a light bulb flicking on, Nathan figured out her actual meaning.

"Yeah, you certainly do. Thanks for the invite but no thanks," Charlie said as she shut the door before the guy got any ideas of sticking his foot in the doorway again. She didn't stick around as she headed back to the couch to resume the conversation she was having just previously.

Or she would have except there was someone in front of the computer now. Charlie raised an eyebrow as she saw Tammy trying to have a conversation with the sociopath on-screen. What was this all about?

At about that time, Tammy looked up and froze slightly as she spotted the elder White. With a drawl in her voice, Charlie said, "Yeah. What's this about?"

"I just want to talk with Bain," Tammy huffed, crossing her arms and looking away from Charlie. "I haven't talked with him since Christmas."

"Worthy of the violin," Charlie said. "It's rude to insert yourself into other people's conversations when you're not invited."

"You were at the door. I was just making sure he didn't get lonely," Tammy argued.

Right about now, Bain speaking up would have been welcomed but since he was an asshole, he remained silent. How come he only spoke when it was inconvenient for her but stayed silent when she did need him? Fucking asshole. Was probably getting off on giving her a hard time.

"Well, he's not lonely anymore. I'll take it from here," Charlie said, moving over to the couch. When Tammy didn't more, Charlie rolled her eyes and unplugged the laptop, picking the electronic contraption up and carrying it out of the room. Ha, no having to get physical anymore.

As soon as she was sure that she was in privacy, i.e. her mother's study that now belonged to her, she tried to pick back up where they had left off.

"_Remind me again why I tried to befriend her," _Bain said, his discomfort plainly visible.

"Beats the hell out of me," Charlie shrugged.

"_I'm beginning to become a bit worried about your sister, Charlotte,"_ Bain said, looking subdued.

Oh? This was new. "Why?" she asked.

"_Because she has this look in her eye; I've seen it before,"_ Bain explained quietly. "_Perhaps it is about time you do something about it, before it gets out of hand."_

"Me? You're the one responsible for it!" Charlie snapped at him. "You're the one who got her crushing on you, not me! Why haven't _you_ done anything about it, huh?"

"_Because like you I thought she would grow out of it. Apparently not,"_ Bain groused.

"Then the next time you come back, _take care of it_," Charlie stated with emphasis. "I am not going to lose any more of my family. Not to insanity. Not to Heaven and Hell. And not to _you_. Remember, I have the power to make your afterlife a living hell, the likes of which would make the devil himself proud."

"_So the fate already reserved for me will be a walk in the park, hmm?"_ Bain commented dryly.

"Better believe it," Charlie said threateningly.

"_You always do have a way with words,"_ Bain said poignantly.

* * *

Brianna sneered at her neighbor's houses from across the street, peering at them through the window before shutting the blinds and returning to the television. Christ she hated this neighborhood. Everyone here was so blue-collar. Was this really what her life had become, so full of promise and now in nothing more than suburban obscurity?

It wasn't that she enjoyed seeing those pathetic houses all the time but she had to keep reminding herself of where she was and who lived around her. It gave her more motivation to do whatever it took to get what she firmly knew was deserved to her.

Too bad Craig was at the bar for another reunion thing. She really felt in the mood to lay in on him about how he wasn't doing enough to give her the life that was owed to her.

She was having to work on it herself now. Once she managed to get the mayor alone with her, she was sure that she could jumpstart her social mobility again. She meant, how could he resist her? She was blonde and tanned, a lethal combination for any person of the male persuasion. Combine it with intense green eyes reminiscent of the sea and no man could resist.

Now, if only she could trap this man and ensnare him. Show him that she was the obviously better choice than whoever he was seeing and bam, she would be the new Mrs. Achristos.

However, it seemed like the world was working against her. Yesterday the mayor's not in his office and today he was so busy that he couldn't see anyone. She thought this was some kind of democratic government where a person could meet their elected officials anytime they wanted. This was America, right?

And who did that red-haired assistant think he was, getting in her way of the life that she deserved? She would have said he was ginger but he looked more like a daywalker than anything. Yeah, he was a soulless daywalker wasn't he? And somehow he knew what she was trying to do and was sabotaging her, wasn't he?

Well, it was a long stretch but what else could explain why she was not being proposed to by the mayor right now? Two sexy outfits wasted so far. Third time was the charm, right? Right. She was sure that all she needed to get him to do was look at her, preferably in a private setting and the rest would be a cakewalk.

Damn it, she was sexy! A wildcat! She was fit, she had appeal, and she was fucking gorgeous! Almost enough to fuck without saying anything! She could do this, she would do this, she was going to do this and finally move out of this dead-end street her life had become.

Hold on a sec.

She opened the blinds and glared at the houses of her neighbors from across the street. Yeah, she needed to remind herself of what she didn't want. Oh look right there. It was the little gay guy going over to the house of the bitch who had a crush on that obese plumber. Aw, was it going to be movie night again? Puh-lease. Freaking pathetic.

She was so going to be glad when she got out of this rut. Just you wait. She was going to make herself into a somebody. Mrs. Achristos. Wife of the mayor, no, future governor, wait, future president of the United States! Now that had a ring to it! That man was going places and she needed to get on this train as soon as possible before it left the station.

Otherwise, all she had to look forward to was a mundane life with Craig who had looked very good when they had first met. No really, he had. When she had first met him, she had been charmed by how bored he looked, as if everything around him was boring him. At that time, that had meant to her that this guy hadn't been satisfied on where he found himself. It didn't hurt that he was handsome also.

Now she knew that that bored looked hadn't been one of boredom but blandness. Craig wasn't a real demonstrative person, just very stoic. He liked things to be nice and boring and when they were, it made him sooooo happy.

By the time she had found that out, it was too late.

But now that she had laid eyes on Mayor Damien Achristos, she knew she had another shot into the big time. Through Damien, she would finally get the life she knew she deserved.

It didn't hurt that he too was handsome.

* * *

It was fascinating to watch Stan from behind, Wendy found. She didn't know what happened but for some reason Stan was plastered and whining to Craig of all people. It was at a time like this that Wendy wondered what she had seen in Stan in the first place.

Yes, there was a lot that was good about Stan, don't get her wrong. He was a nice guy, had a good head on his shoulders, was very accepting of others though he had a tendency to stick with the popular crowd, and he could be so charismatic.

Yet, she had noticed that sometime after he had turned ten that there had been this subtle change in him. Once when they were in Middle School, Kyle had commented about it with something so profound that looking at Stan now, it was almost prophetic. That comment had been that Stan was acting more and more like his father, Randy. Everybody in town knew about Randy. All you had to say was Randy Marsh and that name alone spoke so many volumes that it outnumbered all volumes of the dictionary.

Which was pretty Goddamn impressive by the way.

But yeah, she could see some of Randy Marsh in Stan Marsh, especially right now. It was just so…so fascinating that it was distracting her from socializing with everybody else.

Someone beside her nudged her, jostling her out of her thoughts as the black-haired woman blinked owlishly and looked around before setting her sights on Bebe who was sitting right next to her. And it was also Bebe who had been the one to nudge her. Huh. What did she want?

"Wends, you're spacing out on me," Bebe said. Looking towards the bar where Wendy had been looking earlier, she added, "Yeah, I know, Stan's a catch but didn't that boat sail a long time ago?"

"It certainly did," Wendy sighed in agreement, not wanting to think about the circumstance back then. If only she hadn't let herself be manipulated by that cocksucker Rod…

"I wonder what he's still doing here," Bebe wondered out loud. "I mean, doesn't he have that fancy broker job back in New York? What do you think Alice?"

On the other side of Bebe, nursing what looked like a Screwdriver, the blonde fashion model shrugged her shoulders. "Beats the fuck out of me."

"Any idea of what's making him…well, making him like that?" Bebe asked.

"Fuck if I know," Alice said, propping her elbow up on the table and placing a fist under her chin. "It's like watching a trainwreck. Horrible to watch but you can't just look away."

"Yeah, that a good way to describe it," Wendy agreed, not noticing how Alice tensed up when she spoke.

From behind the trio, the doors to the bar opened abruptly, causing the three of them to look over their shoulders and watch as Kyle Broflovski marched his way to the bar and demanded one of the half-full bottles of whisky from the bartender. Seemed like someone else was here to get drunk but instead of taking a seat on one of the barstools after getting his bottle, Kyle stomped over to a nearby table with the bottle and a shot glass. Almost slamming the glass containers down, Kyle shoved one of the chairs out, plopped down on it, and began pouring himself a drink.

The three girls were alone as they continued watching the show. After the second shot went down the hatch, Wendy had the courage to speak up. "Tough day at the office?"

"Tough? Tough!" Kyle barked out. Then in a more subdued voice, "Yeah, that's one way to put it."

"Was it awful Sweetie?" Alice asked, sounding worried.

"That's another way to put it," Kyle answered as he poured another shot and threw the liquid down his throat.

"Um, what is it that he does?" Bebe asked quietly to the two women on either side of her.

"I think he works as one of the mayor's aides," Wendy whispered in answer.

"Huh, never thought that it was tough job," Bebe commented. "Hey, maybe we can cheer him up!"

"Do you think he's in the mood to be cheered up?" Alice wondered.

"It can't hurt to try!" Bebe declared and spoke to Kyle, "You want to come sit over here? You look—"

"No, no thanks. After what I've seen today, I just want to at least get the idea that maybe, just maybe, everything was just some bad dream and I can go back tomorrow without seeing some demons walking around," Kyle refused politely though he did interrupt Bebe.

"Demons? I think you might have had enough Kyle," Wendy said, getting ready to stand up and walk over to Kyle's table.

"No, not nearly enough," Kyle replied. Then in a more downcast tone, "I don't think there's ever going to _be_ enough…"

"Oh come on, it can't be that bad," Bebe jested.

Kyle only answered with a look but it was one of those looks that you didn't say anything to because what could you say to it? The look pinned the trio of young women down and when Kyle seemed to think that they had had enough, he turned to the bar and asked, "What's up with Stan?"

"He's just…being Stan," Wendy answered hesitantly.

"Ah," Kyle nodded and poured another shot.


	10. You See Nothing

Author's Note: This chapter just didn't want to get written. So let me make a long story short; it was Finals so I needed to study on those and then once I got those over with, I had a case of writer's block. And that's why it took nearly three weeks to get this bitch done with. Let's just consider this an early Christmas gift, eh? Maybe, just maybe, I might get one more chapter done before the end of the year but it's doubtful.

So how about that End of the Mayan Calendar, eh? Anybody surprised we're all still here? Probably not; just some flames fanned by a bunch of people who overreact to so many little things. It's not like the world ends on December 31 every year, right? Anyway, if there is no update between now and the 31st, I'll see you all in 2013. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, violence

You See Nothing

The tweeting of birds greeted Kyra as she opened the door that morning. She took in a deep breath of cool mountain air, taking in the snowy world of South Park, Colorado. Then she looked down.

The birds weren't the only things greeting her this morning.

Kyra watched passively as Stan got back onto his feet from where he had been crouching in front of the door, his balance shaky and eyes bleary as took in the image of her.

"What are you doing here?" Kyra asked, sighing. She scrunched her nose as she caught a whiff of a familiar scent.

"I was…I was…Kkkkyyyyyrrrrrraaaa," Stan slurred when he couldn't put more than two words together. Like a dam breaking, the words poured from his mouth, "I miiiiiissss you sssssoooooooo much! _Hic_. And I-I-I…I'm ssssooooo soooorry. I just…I…I just…"

"You're drunk," Kyra deadpanned.

Stan hiccupped.

"Stan, it's not even…" she paused as she checked her wristwatch, "…seven in the morning. What are you doing here?"

"To…to tell you how sss-sss-sss-sorry I am," Stan slurred in answered, leaning a shoulder against the doorway. Hearing a sloshing sound, Kyra glanced down at Stan's right hand and saw a half-empty bottle of…well she couldn't quite tell what it was but it had be alcoholic. Was it whisky? Rum? Gin? Not that she had any experience with any of those, not at all…

She shifted her weight from one leg to the other in discomfort, eyes avoiding the large bottle.

"Can…can I cooooome in?" Stan asked.

God, his breath was so…ugh. But she hadn't seen him this pathetic in a long time. Was this what living in a fast-pace world led you to or something? Or maybe something else led Stan to it? Regardless of what it was, she didn't have it in her to leave him on his own. How did he even get here? Did he drive?

"Did you drive here?" she asked, suddenly needing to know.

"I don't drunk when I'm drive," Stan answered. "I think," he added after a moment.

Which meant he most likely did. Ahh, she was going to have to invite him in if only to make sure he didn't hurt anybody on the road if he did decide to leave. But really Stan? Seven in the morning? Christ.

"Get in here," she sighed as she opened the door wider and stood to a side to let Stan in. She was supposed to be doing other things than taking care of an intoxicated ex, like moving out and speaking of that, where was Gary? He had told her he'd help out today and to expect him early.

Well, she'd wait for him and make sure Stan didn't get into too much trouble. It wasn't as if she was going to regret letting him in, right?

* * *

Nathan was not in the least bit discouraged and kept an upbeat attitude despite not being able to spend a significant amount of time with Charlotte. She liked him, he knew that and why would her sister lie to him?

However, his window of opportunity was growing short. He couldn't stay away from his recording company for too much longer and then there was his own music career. He needed to start writing down some songs and get started on his next album. And let's not forget the concerts. He couldn't let his fans down or otherwise…

What needed to happen was for him to sweep Charlotte off her feet. She had done that to him back in high school and if it hadn't been for that psychopath, well, things would be a little different now wouldn't they? Nathan couldn't have Charlotte rebuffing him any longer so he was going to need to get some help.

There was only one place he knew that could possibly do that while doing it in an extremely short amount of time and at a cheap price too. Yes, he was heading for Black Market because they had everything and should have some kinds of stuff that could make the dating process more efficient for him.

Now where was that place? It had been so long and he hadn't had any need to go there after his professional life took off. He knew there was an entrance in the school but he was too old to use that one but he was sure there was one in an alley somewhere. He just needed to find the _right_ alley first.

Okay, so it wasn't the one across the street from Tom's Rhinoplasty…how about this one—no, that dumpster wasn't in the right place. Man, did Black Market want to make this place hard to find or something? Because that had to be bad for business. If no one could find the place, then how can anybody shop at it?

Ugh, let's see now, how about…? No. Why was this taking so long? He had better things to do, like winning Charlotte over than doing this—what was that?

He blinked his eyes and narrowed them, trying to peer more into the alley he had just looked through. He thought he had seen some movement…but maybe it was his eyes playing tricks on him. Yeah, that sounded about right. Man he must be tired and—holy shit!

Now, he wasn't sure if his eyes had been playing tricks on him this time but if it wasn't a trick then that was some kind of armored monster that was strolling down the alleyways of South Park. He hadn't drunk _that_ much last night so there was no way…

Oh, there was another one. And it was heading the same way as the one before it. Huh. What was going on?

Hey, maybe…maybe he could take advantage of this. He could kick some monster ass and show Charlotte just how tough he was. Yeah! Yeah, and she would see just how strong he was! And she liked strong people, didn't she? Maybe he didn't need to go to Black Market after all!

Now this was a plan more to his liking. Now he was going to be able to show off. He didn't get many chances but this, oh, this was like a gift sent down from Heaven! He looked behind him to see if anyone was watching and then crept down into the alley, crouching low to make himself smaller as he headed deeper into the alleyway.

Coming to a corner, his body tensed as he slowly peeked around it. He needed to see what things were looking like before he came charging out and busting heads. No sense going in blind, you know.

Oh. Oh. There was more than one. There were several in fact. And they were grouping together. And was it him or were there two of them that didn't exactly look like monsters but humans? Hmm, well, nothing for it. Time to let loose and show off those killer Tae Kwan Do moves he had in his repertoire of fighting skills.

Adjusting his Yankees hat, he braced himself, ready to throw himself out there…

…And then something else happened.

* * *

"Is everybody here?" Damien asked pleasantly, looking over his father's men with a critical eye. "I hope it wasn't too hard for everybody to find me here. It's not like any of you stopped off at Harbucks or anything for some coffee and donuts, did you?"

A few of his father's demons hastily hid away the evidence of their lateness, some putting coffee cup laden hands behind their backs while another tossed a bag of donuts into a dumpster but was not observant enough to wipe off the powder around his mouth.

Damien sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, a habit that he had picked up from Kyle of all people. "Never mind, just forget it. You were all supposed to be assembled right here an hour ago…but that's okay. You're here now and now we can get this operation underway, yes?"

"Are you sure you're not…mad?" one of the demons asked.

"Why should I be when the men my father entrusted to me, telling me they were the most reliable demons in Hell are practically an hour late for a very important task that cannot wait another hour?" Damien asked rhetorically. Eyeing the dumpster where a bag of donuts innocently laid, "I hope one of those was meant for me."

"I can get some more…" the demon with the powder around his mouth suggested.

"Oh yes, do that. And while you're at it, how about you get enough for the rest of us, hmm?" Damien snarked. "What are you doing? Can you not recognize sarcasm when you hear it?" he demanded when the demon with powder on his mouth began to walk away.

"Is sarcasm edible?" the demon asked.

And this was a demon who was one of his father's best advisors? He was really starting to lose his respect for the Dark Prince right now.

"Excuse him, he's an intern," one of the other demons muttered.

Of all that was unholy, there was still hope for his father…wait, an intern? Now why in heaven did his father send an _intern_?

"Don't…talk to me," Damien stated, looking pointedly at the intern. "Let's just get this over with. If everything goes well, that stuck-up mortal Wolf will give up on this buying souls business of his and Heaven will be none the wiser. Now, mortal follower of my father, you know what you are supposed to do, correct?"

The only other person here who did not in the least bit resemble a demon, Dillan, nodded his head. "I'm supposed to lure Wolf out so that you can hold him and then have some of these guys go in and trash the place. I don't know but that sounds a bit…underwhelming."

"Oh, but you see, he won't know just how bad the destruction is if he is out here, will he?" Damien chuckled darkly. "He'll only hear the sounds and his mind will torture him more horribly than anything I could do to him. Remember you fools," he spoke to the other demons now, "destroy everything but the cash register. I want to wave his own money in front of his face before this is all over with. For someone like him, monetary capital is everything and seeing someone snatch it in front of someone like that will be like pouring salt into the wound."

"But what if it doesn't work?" Dillan asked.

"Then we'll come back tomorrow and do worse. Burn the whole building down or something," Damien said dismissively. "One way or another, I'll shut him down by attacking his wallet and destroying his means of filling said wallet."

"But doesn't Black Market have many different locations?" Dillan asked.

"I don't care if there are a million of them; I'll track them all down and burn them to the ground if I have to. Wolf Black pays for daring to upset the balance of the universe even if he's unaware of it," Damien declared. "He will regret that no refund policy of his one way or another!"

Dillan blinked. "There's a no refund policy?"

"Why do you think I'm going through all this trouble, hmm?" Damien remarked.

"Crap. I've been meaning to return some shit…are you _sure_ there's a no refund policy?" Dillan muttered before asking his previous question again.

"I saw the sign myself, mortal," Damien confirmed.

"A man whose business does not accept refunds is some kind of evil," Dillan muttered.

"Hopefully he is not my kind of evil," Damien commented, giving Dillan a pointed look.

"Oh, of course not, you and your father are in a league of your own!" Dillan said.

"And I shall prove that right now, won't I?" Damien chuckled darkly. Throwing an arm out in a directing pose, he declared, "Go forth my minions! Bring ruin to the Black Mark—"

A cloaked figured landed right in front of his hand and Damien stopped, staring at the unexpected interloper. From atop the dark purple hood, a question mark bobbled from side to side as the cloaked figure lifted his head up to reveal his masked face.

"Mayor Achristos. Fancy finding you here," the masked man said in a gruff voice.

Damien pulled his hand back and placed his thumb and pointer and middle fingers against his temples. "Ah, 'Mysterion,' what brings you here? Can you not see that I'm in the middle of something that goes over your head?"

"I wouldn't say that it goes over my head or not," the disguised mortal that Damien knew as Kenny McCormick retorted. Yes, he did indeed see the press conference where he revealed his identity and no he does not have a closet full of Mysterion memorabilia back home. Seriously, he got out of that fanboy mentality a long time ago. Why did no one ever believe him?

"I do not care about what you are planning, Damien," Mysterion continued. "However, I want to try to talk you out of it."

"There is nothing to talk about," Damien stated.

"Hey, isn't he that vigilante that's running around?" Dillan asked, pointing a finger at Mysterion. "Myster…y? Mystery right?"

"Glad to see you're caught up with us," Damien said dryly. "But we're not here to point fingers at anyone and stare dumbly at costumed heroes. We're here to take care of something that needs to be handled by the forces of Hell. This is not an Earthly matter."

"I'll give you my autograph if you stop," Mysterion offered.

Damien was ashamed to say he was unable to hold back the fanboyish squeal that came out of his mouth. Coming to his senses, he turned his head slowly and jerkingly to the others who had seen him. In a dark voice, he uttered, "**You saw nothing.**"

The demons and Dillan looked away from him, scratching the backs of their necks or whistling innocently, pretending as if they weren't there.

Turning back to Mysterion, Damien couldn't hide the look of longing on his face but he squared his shoulders and steeled his will…even though he was already mourning the lost opportunity. Come on, this was Mysterion! Practically everyone in Heaven and Hell wanted his autograph. It was weird but it was a near compulsion for some reason, not that he was complaining about it or anything.

"It's going to take something more than a…than a…" here he was having difficulty getting his next words out, "a…a trivial autograph…" he was practically crying on the inside for daring to say those words in the same sentence, "to…to get me to change my mind," Damien managed to force out. "The-the plan goes full speed ahead. Step aside and I will forget the fact that you were here and interfering with my business."

"Is that so?" Mysterion said coolly and damn it, Damien wished his voice could be that deep. Why was he cursed to have a naturally high-pitched one? "Perhaps this will change your mind."

A figure came into sight then, walking towards them as if they…he was on a stroll, hands in his pockets. If Damien was gushing on the inside for Mysterion, for this person it was nothing but loathing and scorn.

"Hey Damien," Gary the Mormon mortal greeted cheerfully. "Hey Dillan. Hey various demons whose names I don't know."

"Isn't that the Mormon guy?" Dillan asked, frowning. The demons behind them fidgeted.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Damien demanded, interrupting.

"I'm here to stop you before you do something with irreparable consequences," Gary answered, serious.

"Oh really?" Damien drawled. "And what are you going to do, mortal? Ask me to come over for dinner?"

"It would be nice if you accepted," Gary said.

"I'll pass," Damien said.

"So there's nothing I can do or say that will change your mind?" Gary asked.

"Nothing whatsoever," Damien stated, baring his teeth in a vicious grin.

Gary said nothing but settled himself in the spot before him, making no move to leave like Damien wanted him to. As the silence lengthened, Damien's eyebrow twitched and his irritation mounted.

"Well? Aren't you going to leave?" he snapped.

"Can't. Not until you turn around and leave," Gary said, shoulders squared and braced.

"This again?" Damien chided. "Get it through that airway you call a head. I'm doing this one way or another. There is nothing you can do that will stop it. Leave now while I am in a generous mood, mortal."

"A generous offer and one I would take if I was any ordinary mortal," Gary replied.

"Ordinary? Whatever, I have no time for this shit," Damien grunted and turned to one of his father's demons, his red eyes landing on the one demon who had powder still around his mouth. "You. Since you are so hungry, why don't you eat this pest and satisfy your hunger in the only way a Snickers bar can."

"Sure," the demon shrugged and stomped his way passed the Antichrist. Mysterion fell back into a fighting pose but Gary held a hand out in front of the vigilante.

"Let me handle this," Gary said confidently.

"You are aware that this freak looks strong enough to break you in two?" Mysterion inquired.

"I was on the wrestling team," Gary answered and left it at that. A bit vague, Damien thought to himself, but he could care less if he knew how to crochet. As the handpicked demon approached, towering over the already tall Mormon, Gary began to recite a passage that Damien definitely did not know from the Bible.

In fact, he hardly understood any of it but what was the point? He was about to be splattered all over this alley and finally cease to be a thorn in his side. Hopefully, Kyle wouldn't be too pissed.

Apparently sharing the same opinion as the Antichrist, the demon threw a punch right at Gary's face to try and shut him up…and that's when the unexpected happened. The demon's fist disintegrated on contact and blood spewed out like a river, the demon howling in agony as he backed away, clutching at the bloody stump. Damien's eyes widened as he saw the blood that splatted on Gary boil away until he looked as if he hadn't been splashed with blood. Damien held an arm out, commanding the other demons to stop where they were.

"What was that?" Damien demanded, eyes narrowing. "What did you do?"

"What do you mean?" Gary asked pleasantly.

"Why is he," he pointed an accusing finger at the wounded demon, "missing his hand, mortal? Answer me!"

"The most powerful weapon against a demon is one that has been blessed by God," Gary said. "I would think one of his sons would be the most blessed things there are."

"His sons?" Damien repeated. "What are you…oh." His eyes widened. "You can't…"

"What can't he be?" Mysterion asked stepping forwards, fists at his sides.

"I always knew there was something about you…" Damien murmured. "There was always something…and that's it, isn't it? You're one of God's Sons. No, more than that. You're the Second Coming, aren't you?"

"The Second Coming? But isn't that supposed to be Jesus?" Dillan asked, flabbergasted.

"The people who wrote that had giant mancrushes on a dead man," Damien stated, glaring Gary down. "They wanted to believe so badly that the man they called Lord and Savior would come back to save them again. Too bad for them that you can only die for humanity's sins once, eh? No, there needs to be a champion of the current time. What are the odds that it was going to be you?"

"I'll be honest with you Damien and say that I'm not too comfortable with it," Gary said. "But that aside, I can't allow you to go through with this. Turn around and stop before it's too late."

"We'll see about that, won't we?" Damien grinned. "Let's see just what you are capable of, Messiah. It was inevitable that we fight but we might as well get it over with now."

"I do not wish to fight you Damien but I'm more than willing to take you down," Gary stated.

"And he's not alone," Mysterion added. "If you want a fight, I'll be more than happy to give you one."

Why oh why did it have to be Mysterion on that Mormon's side? Nothing for it, Damien supposed. He'll have to take out his boyish idol along with his nemesis. "Take the vigilante," he ordered. "I'll deal with the Messiah."

* * *

Now this was the part that Mysterion knew very well. The part that contained lots and lots of violence. Mysterion was quite used to violence. Had to deal with it more often than not. It could also be said that he was able to talk a lot of people out of violence before it occurred more often than not but there were always those who needed to learn the hard way.

The difference right now was that he was used to dealing with human transgressors. Right now, he was dealing with demons who were more than likely to be able to take a punch and give out more than they took.

Made him wish he was back at the garage but what can you do?

He didn't wait for the demons to come to him; he ran full speed at them. He needed to get the advantage fast if he wanted to last long against them and help Gary out with Damien. It didn't take a genius to figure that Gary, who was new to his abilities, wouldn't last long against Damien, who had been using his powers for years. It didn't matter that Gary was the Second Coming; this was just being realistic here.

Slipping a hand behind his back, he pulled out a bushel of firecrackers and lit the fuse, throwing the small explosives at the demons. He rushed between them as the first explosions distracted the creatures and while they were shielding their eyes, he took the opportunity to grasp onto a drainage pipe, clambering up it quick so that now he was above his opponents. Once he reached a certain height, he maneuvered around so that his back was to the drainage pipe, hands still clasped to it while the bottoms of his feet were pressed against the brick wall of the building.

Once the demons had recovered their sights, they began looking around, searching for him as they whipped their heads around. None had the foresight to look up.

"Where'd he go?" one demon demanded.

"I have no idea! I was distracted by the firecrackers!" another exclaimed.

"That Mysterion sure is a master at disappearing. We can all learn a thing or two from him," another said with admiration.

Letting out an exhale of breath, Mysterion called out, "Over here."

"Where!" a demon cried out, still searching the ground.

"I'm over here," Mysterion said, raising an eyebrow at the incompetence of these demons.

"Where?!" the same demon yelled.

Sighing, "Up here."

"How'd he get up there?" one of the demon's wondered.

One particular demon with blood red skin and tiny spines poking out of his head began jumping up and demon, trying to reach for the vigilante and failing to even make it half way up. "Somebody look for a ladder!" the jumping demon ordered when he gave up. "There's no way we can reach him!"

By now, Mysterion was incredulous. It looked like these guys were all brawn and no brain. Well, far be it from him to not take advantage of it.

He pushed himself off from his spot and plummeted down towards the demon right below him. Keeping his feet together, he aimed his fall so that when the demon looked right back up at him, he got a face full of feet. For a normal, everyday human, this would have flattened them but because a demon is much sturdier, it just caused him to stumble backwards but Mysterion was already on the move.

He leapt from the demon's head at another demon, this one tall and lithe with bluish-green skin, and swung his leg as he did so, landing a kick into the demon's throat. At least the weak points of a human were the same for a demon as the demon stepped backwards, choking while grasping at his throat. Since its mouth was open, Mysterion was unable to resist jamming another bushel of firecrackers into the demon's throat, the fuse already lit.

He was darting away just as the first firecracker detonated, slipping under the arm of another demon that made to grab for him. Putting his smaller and slighter body to the test, he chose a demon that was five feet away, the demon taking a defensive stance that meant to intercept him.

Recalling how the second demon he attacked was affected by a blow to the throat, Mysterion thought that perhaps there were other weak spots to strike. Seeing as this demon's legs were wide open, Mysterion thought why not and…

…ducked under the demon's arms and threw a punch right into the demon's crotch.

Okay, he felt something give way there. Didn't seem like demons wore protection down there either. At least it was a guy demon because the way all the strength retreated from his body as he clutched his groin like any self-respecting male who was hit in the nads would.

Mysterion didn't have time to revel in the demon's pain as he was jerked backwards by his cape, a demon holding fast to the material. Oh, that was a cheap move there using his own costume against him—uup, this was not good. Now he was being held off the ground by the demon gripping his neck with a massive hand.

"Hey everybody! I caught Mysterion! Am I badass or what?" the demon crowed.

Mysterion squirmed in the demon's grip, trying to make some wiggle room. While the remaining, still standing demons began to approach, Mysterion raised a hand up, pointer and middle fingers extended and spread out. With a jab forward, he stabbed the two fingers right into the demon's eyes.

"Owww!" the demon howled as it dropped him, clutching at and blinking its eyes.

Without taking the time to recover himself, Mysterion threw an uppercut right between the demon's legs and that was all she wrote.

You know, it was starting to become a bit uncomfortable hitting demons in the testicles. Even he couldn't completely justify it, not even with the excuse of whatever it takes. At the very least though, the remaining demons were eyeing him warily, hands in front of their crotches.

"Well, somebody get him!" one of the demons demanded.

"Nuh uh, I don't want to pop a nut," one demon refused. "You do it!"

"But I still have the hopes of knocking a succubus up and having some mini-mes running around," the first demon protested. "You don't use yours! You go!"

"Why don't we all rush him at the same time?" a third demon piped up.

"Is that a risk you're willing to take?" the first demon inquired.

Mysterion continued to watch the demons argue, trying to calculate which one would be the best for him to strike down quickly. Who knew how Gary was holding up under Damien's onslaught, which from here was sounding pretty Goddamn amazing.

Suddenly the front of his hood was pulled down and an arm that was much thinner than the ones the demons had wrapped around his neck. "I got him!" a voice yelled out from behind him. "Get him!"

There had been someone else with Damien, hadn't there? A human no less. That's right, now he remembered. Dillan Teigs. The Satan worshipper. He had been there, hadn't he? And he completely slipped Mysterion mind. Now Mysterion was paying for that as he struggled with Dillan, trying to free himself before the demons got their balls back and tried to take advantage of him.

Knowing that he couldn't be "gentle," Mysterion raised an arm out then brought it back sharply, ramming his elbow right into Dillan. He heard an ooph but it wasn't enough to release him so Mysterion repeated the action again and again until he was able to slip around Dillan's arm. Practically tearing his hood off and inadvertently revealing his blond hair, Mysterion glared furiously through blue eyes as he swung a leg and landed a kick right against Dillan's head, sending the human into a couple of garbage cans.

Spinning back around to face the demons, arms raised in readiness to either attack or defend, he eyed his enemies carefully and judged carefully whether he should go onto the offense or the defense. His heart was pounding from all the physical activity he was going through but he knew, he knew he couldn't stop now.

Especially not when Gary was still an utter n00b to all this.

However, the demons weren't making a move on him, instead staring at the top of his head…where his hood wasn't anymore.

"Are you a natural blond?" one of the demons asked.

Mysterion didn't even bother to answer.

The sound of an explosion from behind ended the stalemate though it was more like the shockwaves traveling through the ground shook them off their balance. What was going on back there where Mysterion couldn't see? He was putting this off for too long and needed to end this quickly.

However, Damien had pulled himself into his range of sight but it seemed like he was backing away, hands up in cautious surrender though he didn't look like he had a hair out of place. "Fall back!" the Antichrist ordered, not taking his eyes off of what was behind Mysterion. "It seems like Heaven has chosen its champions wisely," he continued, eyes flickering over to Mysterion for a brief instant. It felt like the Son of Satan was examining him more than looking at him but Mysterion wasn't about to let the bastard know that he was unnerved.

"Are you sure about this?" a demon asked.

"We'll do nothing more than thin our ranks. Fall back. I'll explain later," Damien commanded. Then to him, "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Mysterion remained in place, watching Damien and the demons retreat, allowing for one of them to pick up Dillan but kept his body braced for any subterfuge. It was only when the minions of Hell were out of sight that Mysterion allowed himself to relax enough to look over his shoulder where hopefully Gary was still in one place.

His jaw almost dropped open in shock at how disheveled Gary looked. To put it simply, it looked like he had gone through hell, his normally well-kept hair messed up, some of his clothing torn up…and were those gashes? He was bleeding! Yet Gary still had this…this smile on his face despite the fact he looked like he could keel over at any second.

"Are you all right?" Mysterion demanded. "What happened?"

"I have no idea myself," Gary admitted cheerfully. "There was so much…I don't know how to describe it. You'd have to have seen it to believe it."

In which Mysterion had been looking away the whole time. Damn it, there had to have been some epic shit going on and he had missed it! All of it!

"Do you think you can still walk?" Mysterion inquired.

"Might need a little help," Gary admitted. "That was…a trial. I feel so exhausted…"

"I bet," Mysterion grumbled as he came to the Messiah's side. "I don't know what happened exactly but not only did it seem to wipe you out, it must have been mind-blowingly awesome."

"You have no idea," Gary agreed. "But you know, I feel like I've forgotten something, as if I had to go do something else today."

"One thing at a time," Mysterion said. "We should report back to Michael and tell him what happened. Hopefully that asshole can make sense out of it."

* * *

Nathan released a sigh of breath once the fight had ended. He had no idea why he did it but for a moment it felt like he had been spying on something he shouldn't be seeing.

As soon as the coast was clear, he allowed himself to think over what he had seen. It wasn't everyday a bunch of demons got into a fight with the local masked vigilante while the Antichrist and a superpowered Mormon duked it out, which by the way had been too awesome for words to describe.

You just had to have been there to believe it.

Yet what exactly was that about? Nathan wasn't stupid but right now he was not in the know. Why was there a fight? Why was it in the back streets of South Park? And why wasn't there more damage? He was missing important facts, that was for sure.

"Dude, I feel like my eyes were eye-raped by Japanese cartoon producers and repasted with crappy construction paper replacements which are animated by digital computers," Eric Cartman said from beside him.

Nathan nodded in agreement with that because it was a bit accurate as to how he felt and—whoa, whoa, what the fuck? Since when did Cartman show up? And without him noticing?!

Shoving himself away from the obese plumber, Nathan eyed him warily. "What are you doing getting all up in my personal space?" he demanded.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know black people could afford personal space," Cartman mocked.

"Dude, this isn't the 1950s. I have more money that you've ever seen in your life," Nathan retorted. "I also know fifty ways how to kick your ass so don't piss me off."

"Oh, I'm shaking in my shit-covered overalls," Cartman snarked.

"You're not even wearing overalls," Nathan frowned, pointing out the discrepancy. "Can you even afford overalls?"

"Oh ha ha, are you trying to say that my mama's so poor that she watches TV on an Etch-A-Sketch?" Cartman spat back. "Ha! I beat you to it, black asshole whose name I don't know!"

"It's Nathan Wilkes," Nathan told him in an almost boastful tone. "The rapper."

"Ey, ey, don't cap me bro!" Cartman put his hands up in front of his face defensively.

"I don't have a gun on me, though I wish I did," Nathan frowned.

"Oh, how black of you," Cartman rolled his eyes.

"You know what? Don't talk to me. I want to have as little to do with you as possible," Nathan stated, tired of the banter. He held a hand out in front of himself, his finger pointing upwards in a diagonal fashion and he shook the finger with each emphasis he made.

"Don't go pointing that finger at me, you black son of a bitch!" Cartman spat.

"I'm rich bitch. I can point my finger at whoever I want," Nathan retorted as he started walking away.

"Running away? I thought your kind were fast runners!" Cartman hollered after him.

You know what? Maybe he wouldn't take the higher road. He halted his step and looked over his shoulder, giving Cartman the evil eye, judging and measuring all the possible ways he could inflict the maximum amount of pain on him.

Yeah, he might just give in to his more violent tendencies for once.

* * *

Wolf barely glanced up as Jay returned.

"They're gone," his hired help reported.

"And?" Wolf asked, not deigning to look up from some accounting he was doing.

"That dickhole mayor showed up with some demons but that Mysterion guy and this other guy showed up and stopped them," Jay continued. "I'll admit, it was pretty awesome how the mayor and that other guy fought. I can't—"

"—find any words to describe it, yes, yes," Wolf cut in dully. "Are you sure both sides left?"

"I wouldn't be here if they didn't," Jay rolled his eyes.

Finally looking up, a smirk on his lips, Wolf simply said, "Perfect."

* * *

Right about now, Bonnie wished that she could kill herself. Again. But because she was already dead and in spirit form, there was no escape from the inescapable agony that was listening to Pip rattle on about some stupid shit that happened sometime a long time ago.

Beside her, Krisa looked like her mind was elsewhere, hopefully in better places that were far away from this little piece of Hell they found themselves in. Bonnie had to be honest here and admit that she was a little concerned about the other girl; she had had that same look on her face for hours now, or at least she thought it was hours.

And Pip? Well…

"And would you believe that Mr. Dobson called her a prostitute? Well, he didn't use that exact word but it's close enough. Anyway Ms. Peterman was so angry that her slap sent him across the room! The room! And poor old Mr. Dobson, he just didn't know when to stop talking because he started calling her even more worse words, though I think one of them was meant for me. I hope so, because then I know he knew I was there too, but then Ms. Peterson was…"

Why didn't he know when to stop talking? It was like he was trying to say everything as fast as possible, like he was worried that someone would stop him and he would never talk again. For a moment, Bonnie could have sworn she felt pity for him. But like many things fast spent, her pity was gone after—the tenth hour? Was it the tenth? Or the eleventh? The twelfth?—of prattling.

He was going on and on about all the happenings in this place, events that had happened years ago or maybe days before she arrived. He had already run out of stories from when he was alive and she could honestly not care that he single-handedly beat the Chinese in a game of dodge ball.

There had been a moment when Pip had mentioned that he had been buddy-buddy with a person who claimed to be the Antichrist and after a few descriptions of what he could do, Bonnie was willing to believe. In fact, Krisa herself had thought that maybe there was a way to communicate with the boy Pip called Damien…except that friendship had been broken off when Damien turned Pip into a human firework and he had ditched him for the popular crowd before leaving town.

Bonnie thought at that moment Krisa had entered that staring into space funk she was in from which she had yet to come out of.

Damn it, why had she made that deal with Wolf in the first place? She didn't deserve any of this! None of them did! Well, maybe that Mr. Dobson guy did, but the rest of them didn't! All she had wanted was to get Kenny to pay attention to her, maybe make her his girlfriend and ride her off into the sunset like a gallant hero would. Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently it was as the world seemed so against her. And now she was trapped here, completely at the mercy of Wolf Black who had yet to do anything with them.

"Whoa," Krisa suddenly spoke up, her eyes blinking rapidly. "I just kinda zoned out there for a moment. What happened?"

Bonnie sighed and glanced over at Pip. "Not a thing."

"He's still talking?" Krisa summed up.

"Yep," Bonnie agreed.

"I have got to shut this kid up," Krisa grumbled. "And I'd smack him but then I think I'd be accused of child abuse. Why does he have to look like a damn nine-year old?"

"Because I am a nine-year old?" Pip suggested, more aware of what they were saying than either of them had thought.

"Okay, that's it, I want out of here!" Krisa declared as she began marching towards the door from which many of them had entered but never exited.

Banging on the door with her fist, which somehow didn't go through it, Krisa yelled curses and demands at anyone who might be on the other side of it. Many other spirits/people here looked at her but then looked away, already knowing that that wasn't going to work.

"Wow, she's spirited," Pip commented. "She's not as energetic as Ms. Goldstein was but she's doing a pretty good job. Do you think they'll come and speak with her?"

Bonnie slowly turned her head towards Pip and had to wince away from the utter optimism that was radiating from the boy. Even after all these years, he hadn't given up hope yet? That was either admirable or borderline insanity. Bonnie didn't know which it was and to be honest didn't really care.

After one particular graphic promise Krisa uttered, there was a groan and a creak as the door to their unholy prison opened. Many of them looked up in surprise, shocked at the unexpected turn of events.

On the other side of the door, Wolf gave a deadpanned stare at Krisa. For a moment, Bonnie felt a chill go up her spiritual spine. There was something…off about Wolf. Very, very off. Krisa, though, didn't seem to notice it or feel it as she opened her mouth to make with her demands.

"Do you mind?" Wolf cut her off. "I'm busy. Keep it down."

"Like hell I will!" Krisa roared into Wolf's face. "Let us out of here, will you? Or better yet, let _me_ out of here! I'm losing my fucking mind in here and I swear that I will raise unholy hell the likes of which you have never heard of until you do!"

"That's nice," Wolf said, not even bothered by the threat. "But before you do that, there's something you should know…"

Daintily, one of Wolf's hands rose up and then in an instant grip Krisa's neck in a vice-like grip. A deep growl rumbled from deep within Wolf's body and it caused many of the souls here to back away.

"**Don't fuck with me**," Wolf growled, his dark eyes lighting up with a red gleam for a mere second before returning to normal. With a shove, Wolf sent Krisa flying overhead the mass of souls and then Bonnie lost sight of her.

Turning her eyes back to where Wolf stood, she found herself trembling from the almost unnatural display.

"If you're so bored in here, perhaps we can do something to keep you occupied," Wolf said, somehow looking down on them all even though many of the souls here were taller than him. "I know," he continued, eyes lighting up as a thought occurred to him, "Jay! Get your ass over here! I think it's time we start making my collection of souls here into a little army. Don't you think that would be great?"

* * *

Kyra snapped her eyes open. There, right above her, was the ceiling. Now how did that…?

Ugh, her head…did she drink again? Her body felt sore too though why that was eluded her. Wasn't she…wasn't she supposed to be doing something today? Yeah, she was supposed to be moving out. She didn't have long until she needed to get all her stuff out of here and…was that an arm laying on top of her?

Yes. Yes it was and the arm continued over her and to the edge of the bed where the hand dangled over the edge. Right below the hand was an overturned bottle that looked vaguely familiar.

Following the arm the other way, she noted how muscular it was but pushed that thought aside as she connected the arm to a shoulder, then the shoulder to a neck, then the neck to a head and the head to a face.

And a very handsome face it was. It was a handsome face that was mere inches away from her and smiling a goofy smile to boot. She knew this face alright. Saw it many a time in her dreams.

Stan. Stan Marsh. Stan Marsh was asleep right next to her in what looked to be her bed and he wasn't wearing anything. Neither was she if the fact that the panties she had been wearing earlier today just so happened to be hanging from ceiling fan right above her.

Oh God, she…she had just…

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"


	11. Whose Side Are You On?

Author's Note: Well, after some intense writing sessions and scenes that just wouldn't end…I have produced a chapter right before the new year. Congratulations folks, 2012 didn't kill us all. 2013 on the other hand, who knows? Anyway, people who submitted OCs, remember that portion that asked about choosing between Heaven and Hell? Well here is where it comes into play. Or at least its starts. The main plot is set on drive and we're going full steam ahead. It starts to go downhill starting this chapter so next year, when the next chapter comes up, be ready.

Happy New Year to you guys and enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Whose Side Are You On?

The duo of vigilante and messiah returned through the pearly gates to much fanfare.

"Were you watching that battle? They really stuck it to Hell good!"

"I know! It was better than the movies because it was _real_ and, you know, not fake!"

"I wish I had recorded it so that I could rewatch it again and again because I swear, it was so awesome to see that you just had to have been there to believe it!"

"I think Uriel might have recorded it. Lucky bastard. At least this battle was immortalized. Now generations of angels can truly study and learn from it. Heck, I bet Jesus could learn a thing or two from it."

Mysterion glanced over at Gary. Gary must have really impressed these guys with whatever happened with Damien. His admiration for the recently revealed savior was climbing up a few notches. And Gary just looked like that it was something he did every day and wasn't boasting about it like some egomaniac would.

You know, he was starting to have a good feeling about him.

"It's not every day that you get to watch _the_ Mysterion in action! He kicked some demon ass!"

"Oh my God! He's so disciplined and sexy! There's nothing finer than a mortal who takes the law into his own hands!"

"He was like bam! And then wham! And then pow! And then poke! And then…"

"Theatricality is truly a powerful weapon when you use it right and it can't be used more right than in the hands of Mysterion!"

"What did you think about the Messiah's fight with the Antichrist?"

"Meh, it was okay. Nothing stellar. But man, did you see Mysterion?"

And now Mysterion's respect for God's serverts had fallen a few notches. Were these really his allies? Well, at the very least he had Gary here and so far the Mormon hadn't let him down yet. Taking hold of Gary's shoulder, Mysterion unobtrusively propelled the blond faster through the halls of Heavenly Bliss after passing through the Portals of Joy and why was he starting to think that those were sexual innuendos?

Passing by the mailroom (which was known as the Bundles of Joy), the pair found Archangel Michael in the Mammary Courtyard who seemed to be in the middle of directing various angels towards various tasks. As if sensing their arrival, he turned to face them.

"Welcome back Second Coming of Christ and Keanu Reeves. Allow me to commend you on a battle well won," Michael greeted them.

"All in a day's work," Gary chirped.

"What do we do now?" Mysterion asked. "We thwarted Damien but that's all we did. Whatever he was trying to do in the alley may only be the beginning. What are our next steps?"

"I'm glad you asked that," Michael said. "You see, that skirmish went better than any of us ever hoped for. Not only were you your awesome self, Mysterion, but the new Messiah actually halted the son of the Unholy One in his tracks. Your skills with the Force are very impressive, Gary."

"Thank you," Gary nodded his head. "But it wasn't just me out there…"

"Of course you weren't because Mysterion was pretty kickass out there," Micheal remarked and Mysterion recognized the archangel's tone of voice as belonging to someone who was about to gush about the vigilante's accolades. "I haven't seen such action since Lucifer's rebellion eons ago! Believe me, I did my fair share of decapitation back then but _damn_, you were taking down demons left and right! If coolness was on a scale of one to ten, you'd be a twenty, Mysterion. You are our Keanu Reeves for a reason."

"Can we get back on track here," Mysterion interrupted, not wanting to hear or be drowned with these praises. Honestly, he could care less about them. What was it with the angels here anyway? You'd think they'd be fawning more over Gary…

"Of course," Michael coughed into his fist. "You were both impressive out there and I think that we should press our advantage. We should hit the Antichrist when he's still reeling and hopefully we can put an end to his premature ambitions now instead of having to wait and allow them to grow."

"That seems…reasonable," Mysterion said.

"Wait, are you saying that we didn't stop Damien?" Gary asked, holding up a hand to try and insert himself into the briefing. "Didn't we just do that?"

"The Antichrist, as well as all of Hell's minions, is very persistent. One loss will not deter him from his goals," Michael explained. "For example, a few years back he tried to court one of God's people. We didn't think he'd succeed so we did nothing. And now that black-hearted bastard managed to claim him."

"God's people?" Gary asked, slightly confused.

"Jews," Michael said. "What, you thought God gave up on them or something? No. Like Mormons, all Jews go to Heaven. It was the least he could do after letting them wander around a desert for forty years."

"You mean Kyle?" Gary pressed. "Kyle Broflovski?"

"You know him? Say, you might be able to save this fallen soul!" Michael perked up.

"We'll have to see about that," Gary said uncomfortably, looking away from the angel. Mysterion noted this and decided to ask about it later, when they weren't speaking with the de facto leader of Heaven's forces.

"Everything is starting to look up more and more and—hold on a sec," Michael stopped himself as he looked over the young men's shoulders. "Ah, if that isn't a sight for sore eyes. Mysterion, Gary, there's someone I would like to introduce you to. Come forth and bask in the presence of humanity's savoir and our Keanu Reeves, messenger." The last bit was directed towards someone behind him and the duo looked over their shoulders to see who Michael was talking to.

Dressed in billowy white robes like many of the other angels in this place, a curly-haired, youthful looking angel bowed towards them before he walked around them to join Michael's side. Mysterion raised an unseen eyebrow, not recalling ever having seen this angel before. Then again, looking at how pale this angel looked, he might not have gotten out in the sun very often.

"Gary. Mysterion. Allow me to introduce you to…uh…Odysseus?" Michael introduced.

The angel frowned at Michael and corrected the archangel. "Ongkanon."

"Right. Anyway, this guy whose name is hard to pronounce—"

"I've been here since Heaven's founding! Why haven't you learned to at least pronounce the first syllable?!" Ongkanon interrupted.

"Shush, you're interrupting your superior," Michael said. "Now, this guy beside me is the guy who's in charge of all communications within and outside of Heaven. It was through him that we learned of Damien's plans. He's kinda like a communications director, you see, and every once in a while does press conference in case Metatron is being a bitch or God loses his voice. I have no idea where we would be without him."

"And yet you don't know my name," Ongkanon sighed.

He was ignored.

"A pleasure to meet you," Gary said, smiling warmly and offering his hand for a shake. The two angels stared at the gesture, unsure of what to do with it.

"Likewise," Mysterion said, deciding to put an end to the awkward moment. He'd explain to Gary later that not all earthy customs were practiced up here and yes, that included handshakes. "Have you learned anything?"

"Oh, yes," Ongkanon said, getting down to business. "I have found out that our enemy has retreated back to the structure known as City Hall. No angelic being may set foot in there because of all the evil that naturally radiates from that place and the separation of church and state."

"You don't…? So that means all the politicians that claim that God or Jesus spoke to them…?" Gary inquired.

"Yes, they are lying out their asses, talking to themselves, or being tricked by demons," Ong…candle answered. "Metatron stopped bothering in 325 A.D. around the time of that Nicaea council. Said it wasn't worth the trouble anymore."

"Wasn't that the group that decided what the Bible would look like?" Gary asked.

Both Michael and Ong…candy looked away, not answering the question.

"What else have you found out?" Mysterion asked.

"Um, let's see…" Ong…crazy mused. "Well…the Antichrist is drafting mortals to his cause…"

"He's what?!" Michael exclaimed. "He's bringing in mortals?! When did this happen? Why was I not informed?"

"That was what I was coming here to tell you," Ong…cannon said.

"Well, now that you mentioned it, there was someone who wasn't demon-like in that alley," Gary remarked. "I think I saw him recently too…at the high school reunion I believe."

"Dillan Teigs," Mysterion confirmed. "A lifelong Satanist by all accounts but I fail to see where his involvement—"

"Damien, you're just like your father," Michael said, speaking his thoughts out loud. "Clever little Antichrist…oh, you guys heard all that? Ignore what I said, will you?"

The two mortals and angel shrugged, not knowing anything else to do.

"Well, if Damien wants to include mortals in this endeavor of his, then fine, we'll fight fire with fire!" Michael declared. "Gary, Mysterion, go back to Earth and start scouting as many mortals as you can. The more allies we have, the easier it will be to stop this little asshole's schemes and the sooner we can go back to the divine plan. Do you—"

Michael paused as the sound of a cell phone ringing interrupted him. The two angels and mortals looked around, each one checking their cellular devices one-by-one until only one remained.

"Sorry," Gary apologized, his phone being the culprit. "I'm going to have to take this."

"And this is why we have everyone turn off or silence their phones before entering the Mammary Courtyard," Michael grumbled. "They always ruin the dramatic atmosphere!"

Mysterion half-agreed with that but also was leaning a bit towards Gary the moment the Mormon said, "Kyra?" Kyra McCloud, Mysterion's mind informed him. Stan's old girlfriend from high school and college. He wasn't too sure about college since everything he heard about it was vague but he sure did remember that Gary was also friends with her. Watching Gary, Mysterion noticed the frown on the blond's face, a sign that something was up and may not be good news.

Hanging up, Gary returned to them. "Sorry guys, I gotta go. Something going on back home and it's urgent."

"But the fate of all existence hangs in the balance!" Michael protested.

"It can wait an hour, can't it?" Gary replied. "I'll be on the lookout for other, um, 'mortals' while I'm down there, alright? I just, I need to help out a friend and she needs me right now."

"Oh, so she _needs_ you, eh?" Michael said, wiggling his eyes knowingly.

"What? Never mind. I'll be back," Gary said as he turned and headed away.

"Stick with him Mysterion," Michael ordered. "Even though he handled himself against the Antichrist, he's still a fledgling and needs someone to watch out for him."

"I get it," Mysterion said, stopping Michael from saying anything else. "I'll watch his back so if you'll excuse me."

* * *

By the time he heard movement down the hallway, Kyle's headache was quieting as his brain regained equilibrium. Once again he remembered why he limited his alcohol intake but he knew that sometime in the future he would overdo it again.

Weakening hangover aside, the Jew was curious about how things went and so gathered his guts and his wits and left his office for Damien's. If things had gone well, then all these demons would be going back to Hell where they belonged and he would go back to the awkward status quo that had reigned before all this had started.

When he reached the Mayor's office and found Damien in a foul mood, he automatically knew that something had not gone according to plan, a little something that most likely made the whole thing fall apart. He was no stranger to such things and decided that the Antichrist might need some comforting to get through the disappointment.

Sadly, his approach was anything but soothing.

"What happened?" he asked as he walked passed the various injured demons, one of whom had no hand and two who were clutching at their crotches, and up to Damien's side, the door to the office shutting behind him.

He was flashed with a pair of murderous red eyes yet Kyle held his ground, slightly intimidated but wagering on Damien not taking his anger out on him. He watched as Damien's eyes softened but Kyle was not holding his breath just yet. For all he knew this was the calm before the storm.

He was not surprised when the spawn of Satan embraced him and buried his face into the Hebrew's shoulder and Kyle awkwardly patted Damien's back, wondering what exactly happened.

"Everything that could have gone wrong did," Damien mumbled into his shoulder. "We didn't reach Black Market and a pair of asshole got in the way. I had to order a strategic retreat."

Ah, never let it be said that Damien would ever be in the frame of mind to admit defeat.

"Okay, I know I'm shooting myself in the foot here but who were the assholes?" Kyle asked half-heartedly. He frowned at Damien's muffled reply and had to ask for clarification. "Who?"

Pulling his face away from Kyle's shoulder, Damien uttered, "Mysterion and that asshole Mormon."

Mysterion? _Kenny_? What was he doing still doing that childhood superhero stuff? And Mormon asshole? Who the hell did Damien mean by—oh wait, there could only be one. Then again, there was only one Mormon who Kyle knew and that Damien disliked.

And by dislike he meant loathe entirely.

"Gary? What was he doing there?" Kyle found himself asking in bafflement.

"You tell me why Heaven would send the Second Coming to stop me from tearing that bastard Wolf Black a new one," Damien retorted.

"Second Coming? _Gary_? …makes sense I suppose," Kyle shrugged his shoulders after his incredulity passed.

Damien raised an eyebrow at him. "You aren't surprised by this revelation?"

"Not really. But then again I've never read the Book of Revelations," Kyle said. "So what now? Why did those guys get in your way?"

"Beats the heaven out of me," Damien grumbled as he frowned though to Kyle it looked more like a pout. "The Second Coming shouldn't have appeared yet. It's much too soon yet the only ones who can reveal that Mormon for who he is are all up in Heaven. The decision came from up there and no one else could have done it."

"But why?" Kyle frowned. "Don't they know about all those missing souls?"

"Nope!" Damien replied. "At least, they shouldn't. It would embarrass my father if they did."

"So he's keeping the reason why several demons are walking the earth a secret," Kyle summed up. "I know this is going to sound like common sense but why not just explain yourselves to whoever lives up on high with Jehovah and settle this misunderstanding before it gets out of hand?"

"And ruin the plot?" Damien exclaimed, aghast. "No, no Kyle, we can't let this turnabout go unanswered," the Antichrist chided. "If Heaven wants to play hardball and interfere then we're going to school them on just who they are dealing with."

"Amen to that!" Dillan cheered from where he sat on the floor, a black eye blossoming on his face. Huh, Kyle almost forgot about him. He had been there the whole time?

"I didn't think it would happen but that mortal is starting to grow on me," Damien commented, eyeing the Satanist. Then, back to business, "If Heaven thinks it can lord over us, it has another thing coming. I think it's time to start calling in some favors and drafting a few…soldiers shall we call them? If Heaven wants to fight, then we'll give them one. One to remember. And let's not forget about Black Market. Wolf will get what's coming to him, oh yes."

"Christ," Kyle moaned as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. "So sitting down with them and talking out your differences is out of the question?"

A resounding "Yes" was his answer, not just from Damien and Dillan but also the various demons. Hell, over there was that one demon, Dantalion who was giving him a dirty look and also taking part in the "yes."

Why was it that Kyle always found himself outnumbered? He swore, sometimes he was the only level-headed person in any room.

"Don't worry your pretty, little head," Damien said as he took hold of his chin with gentle fingers and lifted his head up slightly. "I will handle this and then we can go back to you boring me to death with this elected position. It will all work out."

Kyle had to admit that he could almost believe him. In fact he did except that Dantalion had jostled him as he shoved passed him, heading to the door and that somewhat broke whatever spell Damien was weaving over him. He took his eyes off Damien and turned his head away, watching the demon as it stalked to the door. Now what was that all about?

Without warning, Dantalion wrenched the door open and lo and behold, two figures fell into the office. Kyle was a bit surprised because who would try to eavesdrop on a meeting occurring in the Mayor's office?

…actually, now that he thought about it, he was surprised the whole town hadn't come falling in.

The longer he stared at these two individuals, the more familiar they were becoming. "Anna?" he asked out loud, recognizing the Russian immigrant. Frightened blue eyes darted around the room, becoming more and more terrified by the demons that were eyeing her with a dark hunger.

Beside him, Kyle could feel the unholiness radiating from Damien that was increasing in intensity. That was a bit odd because Damien only got like that with people he really, really disliked.

"Get off of me!" the person underneath Anna snarled and in an instant, Anna was gone, fleeing from the office. As if thinking that the person Anna had landed on would also run, two demons rushed over and grabbed the second person by her arms, hauling her up off the floor roughly.

Huh, Kyle thought this second woman was familiar too. Say, wasn't she Craig's wife? Brianna? And why did he keep thinking about that one girl in high school who dated Cartman? This wasn't her but still…

"And what do you think you were doing?" Damien demanded, even as he signaled for a couple demons to follow after Anna. "This is a private meeting. Who do you work for?"

"Be careful, I bruise like a banana!" Brianna snapped at the two demons holding her without actually seeing them. "Get your hands off me! Who do you think you…you…you…?" Her eyes were beginning to widen as she saw just who populated this room with them and Kyle had to say that she was starting to get frightened.

As she ought to be.

Damien stepped passed Kyle, heading for the scared woman. Roughly, he grabbed Brianna's chin and forced her to look at him. "I will ask you only one more time. Who do you work for?" Damien repeated his earlier question.

Brianna hoped and closed her mouth without being able to say anything.

"**Well**?" Damien growled inhumanly.

"No one!" Brianna squeaked. "I don't work for anyone! I…I-I-I don't even have a job!"

"A likely story," one of the demons grunted.

"Damien, cool it!" Kyle intervened. "You're scaring the shit out of her and would you look at her? She's…uh…she's dressed…like she's trying to seduce somebody…"

Yeah, only now did Kyle realize just how the dress that Brianna wore hugged her curves in just the right ways. Funny how none of it did anything for him. But then that raised the question of who she was all dressed up for and if it was indeed for seduction then who was the target?

Seeing how it was the Mayor's office she was eavesdropping on, Kyle had a funny feeling that it was Damien.

"Seduce? Nobody here is impressed," Damien said as he dropped Brianna's chin and turned away from her. "Now unless someone here wants to do the dirty deed—" quite a few of the demons raised their hands here "—I suggest we dispose of her. She is of no use that I can see."

"What?!" Brianna's jaw dropped open.

"You mean kill her?" Kyle gaped.

"Well she is married and she's trying to seduce someone so doesn't that mean she's breaking one of those commandments?" Dillan pointed out.

"Craig created on me first!" Brianna defended herself, managing to gather some of her wits.

"Right," Damien said dryly.

"Look, maybe there's another way," Kyle said.

"Like how?" Damien asked, looking at Kyle intently.

"Maybe she can spy on Mysterion and the Second Coming?" Dillan suggested with a shrug.

"Yeah!" Kyle agreed immediately. "Why would they expect anything from her? And then there's the reunion stuff! Nobody's going to pay any attention to her unless it's the guys looking at her boobs!"

"You are…making a good point," Damien acknowledged.

"And if she proves herself, you can pay her back with her life," Kyle felt the need to add.

Damien gave him a sly smirk. "So that's where you're going with this."

"Personally, I don't really care what you do," Dillan said. "She's kinda a bitch and Craig's a good guy. He wouldn't cheat on anybody."

"Is that what you think?" Brianna spat out at the Satanist.

"Silence!" Damien demanded. Taking a step closer to Kyle, he said, "If her life is so important…then you'll have to give me some collateral."

"Bribery?" Kyle groaned.

"The kind only you can give," Damien's smirk widened.

"Fuck me," Kyle moaned.

"That's what I intend," Damien said softly into his ear.

Glancing at Brianna who was giving them both a queer stare, Kyle sighed. "Fine. Alright. Just don't do anything that will cost her her life."

"We have a deal then," Damien said. Turning back to Brianna, "You hear that? You're working for me now and you had better pull your own weight. Trust me, I am going to make you work for your freedom, harlot. Don't make me regret this."

* * *

Charlotte was out when Nathan arrived at her house but there was someone there in her stead. Her sister he believed. The one that had spoken to him from the window the other day. Not who he was looking for as he really just wanted to see Charlotte again.

But maybe he could find out what was going on on the apple of his eye's end. The only one who could tell him that and wasn't Charlotte was the person who claimed to be her sister. Now that he was facing her, he had to admit there was a resemblance but the two sisters were in no way identical.

"No, Charlie isn't here," Charlotte's sister told him, the door open wide enough that if Nathan wanted to, he could shove his way pass her. But he wasn't going to do that. He was going to be civilized, polite, and both would do wonders to making a better impression on Charlotte.

"Didn't I talk with you the other day?" he asked, wanting absolute clarification. "You were whispering from the window."

"Yeah," the girl looked to a side.

"Well, maybe you can tell me what's going on," Nathan said seriously. "I know you told me that Charlotte liked me but she's not acting that way."

"Charlie just has a hard time showing it," Charlotte's sister defended. "It took her forever to say she liked Bain. Took her even longer to…" here she looked like she was having trouble, "…to hook up with him."

"How long?" Nathan inquired.

"…about a year," Charlotte's sister answered quietly. "That…includes the amnesia."

Right. Like Bain really had amnesia. Nathan was in the same camp as that DJ girl; he had to have been faking. How else would he have been able to freeze them all?

"I don't exactly have a year…um, I didn't get your name earlier. If you don't mind me asking…?" he began to explain only to back up and start with a more basic topic. He didn't even know this girl's name!

"…Tammy," the girl answered reluctantly.

"As I was saying, Tammy, I don't have a year to keep showing up at this door," Nathan explained, glad now that he didn't have to call or refer to her as "the girl" or "Charlotte's sister." "I have a business, a recording studio, that I need to be getting back to. I like Charlotte, no, love her. But time is not on my side here. I need to know if I'm reaching her."

"You are!" Tammy said quickly but Nathan was becoming a bit suspicious about this girl. The pause earlier and how uncomfortable she was acting now, she was hiding something.

No more playing around.

"Let me come in," he said, even as he pushed his way in, shutting the door behind him over Tammy's protests. "What aren't you telling me?" he demanded as he placed his hands on Tammy's shoulders and held them tight. No more games.

"I'm not hiding anything!" Tammy exclaimed, trying to squirm her way out of his grip. He tightened his hands to bring the point across that he wasn't letting go any time soon. "I'll scream!" she threatened.

"You must think I'm stupid," Nathan stated. "I may love Charlotte but I'm not blind. What aren't you telling me Tammy? Don't lie to me because I will know."

"But she does like you!" Tammy cried out. "She just—"

"Has a hard time showing it, I've heard it before," Nathan interrupted. "Tell me something different. You seem so eager to tell me what I want to hear but Charlotte's not showing me what I want to see. Stop giving me the runaround."

"You want the truth?" Tammy demanded.

"That would be a great place to start," Nathan said.

"She has no interest in you," Tammy stated coldly and Nathan couldn't help but feel like he had been punched in the gut, his heart cringing on itself. "I'm her sister so I would know."

"That's what you said last time," Nathan hissed, anger beginning to mix with the sensation of being betrayed. "What game are you playing you little bitch?"

"I want Bain," Tammy said. "He's the sweetest person in the world and Charlie can't see it. What you want doesn't matter to me. It could have been anyone who came to the door and I would have said the same thing. You're not the first to try but you're the first that she hasn't punched in the face for being so aggressive. I figured you'd have a better chance."

Nathan's jaw was open as he had not anticipated such an answer. What was it with the White girls in liking psychopaths? More than ever he felt the need to save these girls from this homicidal maniac but how could he when they were drawn to him?

"Why him? Why that…that…" he just couldn't find the right word that could describe his contempt for Bain who hadn't even showed up for the reunion.

"Like I said, he's sweet," Tammy answered, her voice soft and her lips forming a small smile. "He's the kindest person I've ever met. Charlie doesn't see it and always calls him names. He needs someone who will be nice to him. Doesn't everybody?"

Okay, now Nathan was beginning to think there was something off with this girl. Yet maybe there was a way he could use this. Tammy wanted Bain, he wanted Charlotte. Bain and Charlotte already had one another. And that was the problem. Well, let Tammy be ruined by Bain; she had lied to him. That didn't mean he was about to write her off as an ally, of course.

If he could come up with a way to convince Charlotte to break it off with Bain and use Tammy to do so, then he could speed this thing up. Sure, it might mean an extra week but he figured he could weasel that much time to do this. Yeah, then he could save Charlotte and sweep her off her feet and finally get her to love him as much as he did her.

Oh yeah, that was the ticket.

* * *

Gary clomped his way to Kyra's apartment, hurrying a bit because of how frantic Kyra had sounded earlier when she had called. The urgency had prompted him to get out of Heaven and come back and he was worried about the person he considered his best friend.

Reaching the door, he knocked once and found the door being torn open by Kyra who looked like she was in the middle of some kind of breakdown.

"Gary!" she exclaimed as she threw herself at him and Gary caught her easily, wondering what exactly had her this out of sorts.

"Kyra?" he heard a familiar voice call out, followed by some heavy footsteps. Gary suspicions were confirmed when Stan came into view.

This explained a lot actually. Only Stan could do this Kyra.

And now that he was getting a good look at Kyra, he could see that she was wearing Stan's pants and Stan…wasn't. The rest of Kyra's outfit was hers completely though her socks were on the wrong feet. She was disheveled, in disarray, and he wouldn't be surprised if she had partaken in some activity that didn't require clothes.

…

That was actually a really good explanation why Stan wasn't wearing any pants.

"Let's go inside," Gary said uneasily, suddenly feeling out of his depth. Taking on the Antichrist with newly-fledged Messiah abilities he could handle but trying to see a young woman through an existential crisis when the source of said crisis was standing right there was really out of his element.

He was a Mormon for Christ's sake!

Please forgive him, Father, for saying the Lord's name in vain.

It took a couple moments to get inside the apartment and situated on what little furniture Kyra had left. There was only a couch left so he sat beside Kyra there, leaving Stan to stand awkwardly a few feet away.

"Okay, Kyra? Kyra are you listening to me? Calm down," Gary tried to soothe the distraught woman. "Now, I need you to tell me what happened. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I…I think I just had…sex…with Stan," Kyra managed to get out haltingly.

"You think or you did?" Gary asked.

"I…did," Kyra bowed her head down.

Gary sighed and combed his fingers through the long brown hair. Yeah, he was starting to piece things together. As far as he knew, Kyra was planning to cut it off with Stan and move on with her life but that plan got scraped the moment she had…done that…with Stan who by the way was looking like a little boy who knew he was in deep trouble. Kyra had always had self-confidence issues and what better way to undermine them than for something like this to occur? However, how had this come to pass?

"So how did it happen?" he asked.

"Well, I don't remember much but I do remembering kissing and then some dry humping and…" Stan spoke up to answer.

He could feel Kyra cringe against him as Stan became more explicit. Gary himself felt like he could blush any more than he already had. Was it even possible to do that…? Physical speaking, he meant. And did it really feel that good?

Okay, okay, he was getting off track here and he raised a hand up to stop Stan from speaking. Inadvertently, he used his Christ-like powers to literally take Stan's voice away but he was able to figure this out quickly when Stan's mouth kept moving. Okay, he had done this and this and there we go! Back to normal.

"…and then we started doing it doggie-style." Stan concluded.

Gary was gaping and he was having a hard time mustering up any words to say to that. Never mind Stan! He'd focus on Kyra first because that seemed to be the best place to start.

"It's okay," he said soothingly to the woman, embracing her and rocking her back and forth. "It was just a little accident. You need to get a hold of yourself, okay?"

"An accident!" Kyra exclaimed, pulling away from him just enough to look him in the eye. "I-I got drunk and just had… I thought I was over him!"

"You mean I might still have a chance?" Stan asked hopefully.

"Not now Stan," Gary ordered, the stress starting to get to him. "It would be best for you not to say anything until someone speaks to you. Kyra, what do you want me to do?"

"Make it all go away so I can finish moving and…and where were you? You said you were going to come over and help me," Kyra said, wanting an answer that could allow her to assign some kind of blame on him.

"Maybe we should get out of here," Gary said after releasing a loud breath. "I'll…I'll explain along the way."

"Explain what? Why can't you do it here?" Kyra questioned.

"It's a long story and things around here, I think, might get worse before they get any better," Gary answered slowly, as if unsure if he was saying the right words.

"What are you saying Gary? What's going to get worse before it gets better? Are you talking about this?" Kyra asked desperately.

"Trust me Kyra, you might not believe one word of it," Gary said.

"If it's something weird, you won't have to worry about it," Stan said helpfully. "This kind of shit always happens here."

"Shut up Stan!" both Gary and Kyra yelled at him. Stan hung his head low as if he had been chastised by a parental figure.

"I think a change of scenery…and pants…would do you a lot of good," Gary said. "You need time to calm down and standing around here is not going to be conductive for that. We can go to the reunion thing for tonight, the last thing Wendy has planned and there—"

"Gary, what are you talking about? Why are you acting like this?" Kyra interrupted. "You're acting…different…"

Gary sighed. He supposed he couldn't keep this a secret for much longer. "Kyra, I found out last night that I am the Son of God and the Messiah that will serve as the Second Coming right before the Apocalypse. I just had a fight with the Antichrist himself and almost had my rear handed to me. I literally just returned from Heaven itself and now here I am in your apartment where you are in the middle of a breakdown after getting it on with your ex."

Kyra stared back at him, eyes blinking slowly once then twice. "Oh. Okay."

"O…kay…?" Gary repeated.

They both waited for Stan to butt in again but when he didn't, the two of them turned to the other male with expressions on their faces that pointedly gave him permission to speak.

"That stuff happens all the time around here," Stan shrugged, figuring out what their facial expressions meant. "It's not really all that surprising, really."

"Oh, I forgot to mention that the forces of Heaven also want me to recruit some allies here on Earth because the Antichrist got away and might be planning another assault real soon," Gary felt the need to add.

"Not really that surprising," Stan repeated and was not shushed this time.

"But you couldn't have called earlier?" Kyra asked.

"With everything that's happened, it slipped my mind," Gary said apologetically. "Now, what myself and a partner that Heaven gave me are going to do is try to see if we can't get some of our old classmates to help us out with this. Would you like to come with me?"

"But what about…?" Kyra tried to ask in a small voice.

"We'll talk about it on the way there," Gary promised. "You can always say no."

Kyra swallowed but in the end said, "Okay."

"Okay," Gary nodded. "How about you get changed and then we can go?"

Kyra nodded and slowly paced into her room. As soon as the door was closed, Gary turned to Stan who was standing there in his pants-less state and looking forlornly at the door. Whether it was for Kyra or his pants Gary did not know but found himself not really caring for once.

"You messed up big time, buddy," Gary said, not mincing his words.

"Why can't I argue with that?" Stan sighed.

"Look Stan, Kyra's decided to move on, just like you did," Gary said. "I don't know what occurred between you two but it looks like it would be best if you just break it off and head back to New York where you've obviously already moved on."

"But I can't," Stan protested.

"You already have," Gary reiterated. "You hurt her feelings back at the reunion, you know? You forgot about her when she hadn't forgot you. I always supported her back in high school, convinced her to talk to you, whatever it took to make her happy. I wanted more than anything that it would work between you but now it's over and it's time to move on. This whatever-it-is has messed her up even more. Keep your distance, okay? That would be what's best for Kyra."

"Keep my distance? Why should I do that?" Stan demanded.

"If you're trying to get back with her, you're not doing a very good job at it," Gary replied. "And don't you live in a fast paced world or something? Maybe you should get out of this slowed paced one and get back to it?"

"But I want Kyra to share it with me," Stan said.

"Kyra has a new job with new obligations and none of which include you," Gary said. He was flinching on the inside from how cold it sounded but he felt as if he needed to say it anyway, hurt feelings be darned.

"I'm not going to give up just because you think it's the best thing to do," Stan stated. "Where's that reunion thing? I'll go too."

Gary sighed. "I can't stop you from following me but keep your distance from Kyra. You're the last person she needs to see now."

"You should know by now that I'm a persistent bastard," Stan retorted. "I got her to be my girlfriend twice. I can do it again. I've already given up my dignity before and if I have to get that Master Chief costume out again—"

"No!" Gary exclaimed, holding his hands up as if to ward against the possibility of that happening.

"Just so we're clear," Stan said with a smirk in all his pants-less glory.

* * *

Brittany felt frustrated and exhausted. The whole weekend was turning out to be one big trial, more than anything she expected. This whole time, people came up to her and talked to her all about Bonnie and how close they remembered the two of them being. That accounted for the exhaustion part.

Where the frustration part came in was due to her unable to get a moment's time alone with Kenny McCormick. She had learned he had a garage in town and it had taken her a while to get up the guts to manufacture enough of a dent that it would require Kenny to take a look at it while giving her the chance to try and finally bag him.

She made the dent that was probably superficial but the garage was closed for the day! She had a car here that she needed checked for possible internal damage and where was Kenny?

The whole weekend was turning into a bust. Here she was thinking that she could achieve some kind of life and included her one-sided high school sweetheart. But instead she once again made the butt of some cosmic joke that she swore Bonnie was behind just to make her miserable one more time.

Well, she made time to go for the final reunion event that Wendy had planned then get her ass on a plane back to D.C. where she could resume her Kenny-less life once more. A bit depressing, yes, but she had hope that she might get lucky here. It was a small hope but hope nonetheless.

They were meeting at a bowling alley, a new structure in South Park that laid on the outskirts of town. When it had been initially built, all the male adults of South Park had been into it while anyone of sane mind and with a certain youthful quality to them had thought it lame and stupid. Naturally, it exploded into your stereotypical South Park mess where things were overdramatized and well-known celebrities were involved.

She was glad she wasn't there to be in any way, shape, or form involved with it.

But Wendy thought that some bowling would be a nice send-off, one last opportunity for some quality time between former classmates while creating some fond memories that would have to last them for another ten years.

Brittany was beginning to doubt she'd attend a twentieth high school reunion.

Yet there she was and a few people had already shown up. Wendy was, of course, there, Bebe at her side. Trying on some bowling shoes was Craig Tucker and Clyde was chatting up a storm right next to him. Um…there was that Alice gal heading out of the restroom. Yeah, there were others that still needed to show up.

She found herself being shoved to a side by a large mass of fat that began to bellow, "Does anybody know a Jew lawyer? I need to sue a black asshole rapper who assaulted me unjustly!"

Okay, so maybe Cartman didn't need to show up.

"Is there a lawyer in the house?" Cartman continued to yell.

Wendy looked away and did not look up.

"Should've known no one here would be smart enough to go into law," Cartman grumbled. "Damn it, where's Kyle? That greedy Jewrat has to know some lawyers!"

And now Brittany was reminded why Cartman had the honor of being kicked out of LESBIAN first. Why they let him in the first time went beyond her. Christ, if only the bar stuff happened tonight and the bowling alley was yesterday. Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, you needed to plan this better!

"What are you complaining about?" a smooth yet deep voice demanded from beside her and Brittany found herself jumping in fright at the suddenness of it. Whipping her head to the side, she found, much to her shock, Kenny. Kenny's handsome features were distorted into a frown but Brittany knew she could recognize him anywhere.

"What dick went up your asshole?" Cartman retorted. "I need a lawyer, not that you would know any."

"Hey, I know lawyers," Kenny's frowned deepened. "The cheap ones at least."

"Cheap you say?" Cartman suddenly looked very interested. "Were any of them Jewish?"

"What does…? Forget it," Kenny shook his head.

"Come on Kenny, be a pal!" Cartman whined.

"They're only cheap because they don't like spending cash; their fees are not," Kenny muttered. Aloud, he said, "What do you need a lawyer for?"

"Kenny, I'm about to make it into the big time," Cartman smirked, his voice lowering into a conspiratorial tone. He must not have noticed her even though she was in plain sight as he continued talking. "I got beat up by a black guy today but not just any black guy. A rapper! Do you know how much cash those guys have? And do you know how they spend it? It would be in better hands, my hands, instead of some asshole who doesn't understand the concept of a dollar." Now that Cartman mentioned it, he did look like he had been beaten up recently. There was a growing black eye and dirt all over his face and his clothes…

"_You_ don't understand the concept of a dollar," Kenny said, interrupting Brittany in her observations.

"That is a vicious lie and I hope you know you really hurt me by saying it," Cartman said, looking wounded.

"No, I don't know any Jewish lawyers," Kenny stated dully though whether he was telling the truth or a lie, Brittany had no clue.

"Goddamn it!" Cartman thundered. "What is this? Some kind of conspiracy to keep me poor?"

"You do a good enough job of that by yourself," Kenny commented.

"Oh ha ha, Kenny, that's a great one," Cartman growled.

"I got a lot more if you want to hear them," Kenny said brightly.

"Fuck you Kenny! I'll do this myself," Cartman snapped, stomping away. "I was going to give you a cut but I think I'll keep it all for myself! Screw you Kenny! I'm finding me a lawyer."

"Whatever," Kenny rolled his eyes and Brittany found herself falling in love with him all over again. "Oh, didn't see you there," Kenny said, spotting her. "How ya doing?"

"O-o-okay," Brittany stuttered and mentally berated herself for sound so lame. Come on Brittany, you're making an impression here!

"That's nice," Kenny nodded his head and looked over all the others that had shown up. "Not a lot of people here."

"Who sticks around for a three day reunion?" Brittany found herself asking and she congratulated herself for not sounding dumb.

"Hope Wendy's gotten it out of her system. She can't keep trying to impress people with her new law degree," Kenny said.

"Ah ha! I knew you were a lawyer you hippie! You gotta know some Jews who work with you!" Cartman's voice carried all the way from across the bowling alley.

"I'm criminal! Not civil!" Wendy protested.

Kenny shrugged his shoulders. "Guess it's no longer something to rub in other people's faces anymore."

Okay Brittany, now was your chance. Time to really engage Kenny, get him to like you enough and then possibly get some seduction in here. Kenny still liked sex, right? Why was she asking that, he was a guy! Of course he did! Now how could she work it in?

Just when her big chance had come in, the entrance behind them opened and in came three more people. Stan she recognized immediately and then there was…Gary and Kyra? That's right, Gary and Kyra; they were at the reunion a couple nights ago. Ugh, and they had to pick _now_?

"You made it," Kenny greeted.

"Of course," Stan said.

"I was talking to Gary, not you Stan," Kenny replied.

Stan narrowed his eyes at the blond Mormon but said nothing.

"Let's get this over with," Kenny said, sounding put out and tired. Brittany wondered what could have caused that. "I'd rather be laughed out sooner than later."

"It's going to be okay," Gary said, face bright with a smile. Huh, that smile was infectious, Brittany thought to herself. Even she wanted to smile.

"Right. Hey, how about you go over to the rest of the guys…and girls," Kenny said to her, his exhaustion most prominent in his killer blue eyes. Brittany found herself nodding and walking ahead of the small group to where Wendy and the others were. Not that she liked Wendy, mind you, but that just happened to be where Kenny and the rest were heading.

Craig and Clyde glanced up at them but they resumed what they were doing like they were uninterested. Everyone else didn't even give her or any of them a look, more wrapped up in the little drama that Cartman was forcing on Wendy. Whatever it was that Kenny and Gary wanted to talk about, Brittany thought it was awfully rude of them to ignore them.

Hey, maybe she could—

"Cartman, could you shut your fat ass mouth for a moment?" Kenny butt into one of Cartman's wild demands.

"Why don't you shut your Goddamn mouth you poor asshole!" Cartman shot back, peeved that someone had interrupted _him_ of all people.

"Christ I'm starting to feel like Kyle," Kenny moaned under his breath.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you Kenny. Are you so poor that you can't afford to say words anymore?" Cartman taunted.

"How about we all calm down," Gary tried to intervene.

"And now there's this asshole trying to be a hippie and get everybody to _listen_ and be _nice_, whatever that means," Cartman turned on the Mormon.

"Don't talk to him like that," Kenny came to Gary's defense.

"Whatever, whatever, I talk like I want!" Cartman claimed.

"DEMONS! MONSTERS!"

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked towards the front entrance where they saw the rapper Nathan Wilkes supporting a very scared and somewhat deranged young woman. She looked like she had seen something horrible and Brittany was proud to say she was one of the first to respond, coming to the young woman's side and trying to calm her down.

"What is it? What about demons and monsters?" Brittany asked, while trying to soothe the woman.

"Hey, hey, you might want to stay away from her," Cartman warned. "Her craziness might be infectious."

"Shut up!" both Kenny and Stan shouted at the fat man.

"What's wrong with her?" Wendy wondered as she took over from Nathan and helped Brittany to direct the hysterical woman to one of the booths.

"Shh," she heard Gary shush the young woman who, for some reason, responded to him. "It's alright, you're safe here," he said and Brittany was amazed not only just by how intently the young woman was listening to him but also how much she herself believed him. "Now, what is your name?"

The woman hiccupped. "Anna."

"Okay, Anna, it's going to be okay," Gary said, smiling softly at her. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Anna nodded, in more control now than when she had first shown up. "_Da_."

"Ooh, Russian," Kenny murmured under his breath.

"Who is this guy?" Nathan Wilkes muttered to Stan who stood nearby, trying to also be helpful.

"Mormon," was all that Stan would answer.

"City Hall," Anna practically sobbed out. "There were monsters there. And Kyle…Mr. Broflovski was in the middle of them. They must have torn him to pieces."

"Whoa, whoa, Kyle?" Stan exclaimed.

"I don't think anything's happened to Kyle," Gary told the troubled Anna. "I think he's safe. Do you believe me?"

"I do not know why but _da_," Anna answered.

"Is there anything else you saw?" Gary asked, holding Anna's hand gently and patting it.

"Mayor. He was so evil," Anna nodded, blinking tearful eyes at Gary. "He was leader."

"I know," Gary said ever so gently. "Is that all?"

"Another person. He was cheering him, Mayor," Anna said haltingly, as if she was about to break out into tears at any moment.

"Dillan," Kenny said. Huh? How did Kenny know that, Brittany wondered.

"What about him?" Craig asked, coming up from behind the mechanic.

"It's the reason why Gary and I are here," Kenny replied. Looking pointedly at Gary, he asked, "Do you want to tell them or should I?"

"No, no, I'll do it," Gary said as he gave Anna's hand a comforting squeeze. "Hey guys? Could you listen for a minute?"

Everyone, including Anna, looked up at him, some expectantly.

"I know that this is going to sound really, really…strange but I swear, it's all true," Gary said. "Very recently, I found out that I am the Son of God and the Mayor is the Antichrist who is trying to jumpstart the apocalypse early. I have been told to stop him but the Mayor has begun to gather people in town to help him in his cause and I am asking you guys if you would help me out and side with Heaven."

Truly, Gary sounded like he really believed all that. Brittany, however, was skeptical. Perhaps it should be Gary who was demented and needed to go away to an asylum for a very long time. Everybody knew that Jesus was the only Son of God and the Messiah to boot.

"What are you smoking and can I have some of it?" Craig asked. "It would make dealing with Brianna a lot easier and that would make me sooooo happy."

"I believe him," Kyra spoke up, speaking for the first time since she got here.

"Why?" Craig asked.

"Because he's telling the truth. I was there," Kenny stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well that figures," Craig said.

"If you do not believe the Second Coming himself, then perhaps you will believe me," another voice chimed in and this one…well, Brittany was more willing to believe this crazy story that Gary was weaving now.

Because if her eyes were not mistaken, that was an angel standing right over there, wings and a trumpet in hand and looking so…holy, she supposed.

"Is that an angel?" Clyde asked, pointing a finger at the supernatural creature to be exact.

"Gabriel," the angel introduced himself. "Michael had a feeling you would all be skeptical and thus had me transubstantiate in order to convince you and do you know how hard it is to do that?"

A bunch of them, including Brittany shook their heads in the negative.

"I thought so, now I'm not going to get into all how God got into Gary's mother's pants but Gary is indeed the Messiah for this day and age," Gabriel said, Gary's face flushing a bright red in embarrassment. "What I am going to get into is that the dark one masquerading as your mayor has begun mortal recruitment and we in Heaven feel that in order to combat that we need some mortals on our side too."

"Count me in!" Cartman piped up automatically. "Anything to have Heaven owe me one."

Everyone, including Gabriel, gave Cartman an odd look before shrugging and looking away from him.

"Ey, what was that for? You think I'm not Heaven material?" Cartman complained.

"It's not like I haven't been involved with something like this before. Sure, why not?" Stan shrugged.

"Figures you guys would be the first," Craig commented.

"What's that supposed to mean, _Craig_?" Stan demanded, almost spitting out Craig's name like it was something foul.

"Come on guys, now's not the time to argue!" Wendy said. "I know I would be honored to aid to help out but I have a new job that I need to go to and—"

"Don't you worry about that; we'll take care of that," Gabriel cut in. "We in Heaven wouldn't want to make any of you suffer for trying to save the world from pure evil like being fired or something stupid like that."

"Well, if that's the case, I guess I can," Wendy shrugged.

"I got nothing planned or scheduled," Bebe said, looking through her iPhone. "What about you Alice?"

"Nothing until next week," Alice replied. "Funny, could have sworn I had something…well nothing for it. Heaven's a nice place where good people go, right? It's safer than Hell so yeah, count me in."

"Me too!" Brittany added, eyes darting over to where Kenny was. Kenny was already a part of this so why shouldn't she? She'd prove herself this way and gain Kenny's love at long last.

"Well, if I won't get fired, I guess I could help out," Clyde said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Good people go to Heaven," Anna said, sniffling. "I want to save Kyle. He's been so nice to me since I moved to this town. Good always wins."

"You're damn right is does," Gabriel said.

"Looks like someone's getting lonely here," Cartman chuckled, eyes on Craig. "So, Craig? What are ya gonna do? Everybody's joining the Kick-Hell's-Ass team. And you gonna join Heaven too or are ya gonna be a Debbie Downer and join Hell? Please join Hell because I would love to kick your ass."

"Do I have to pick a side?" Craig asked.

"Yes," most of the people in the room said.

"If that's the case, I'll pick Heaven," Craig said, not looking at anyone.

"Great," Gabriel said. "That just leaves…" he turned towards Nathan who hadn't declared what side he was on yet.

"Why are you guys looking at me? I was just dropping her off," Nathan gestured to Anna.

"So now it's clear to see, your soul is just as black as your skin," Cartman smirked.

"I'm just trying to get Charlotte to like me!" Nathan protested.

"Charlotte?" Gabriel repeated.

"Charlie?" Gary asked.

"Yeah. I don't see how getting involved with in a battle of good and evil is going to help out," Nathan stated.

"Well, chicks do like guys who kick ass," Gabriel pointed out.

"Why are you interested in her anyway?" Stan asked. "Wasn't she going out with some crazy guy?"

"Bain," Kenny said, Nathan's face darkening at the mention of it.

"She deserves better than him," he muttered. Brittany was beginning to think that there may be a few screws loose in this guy's head. Why'd he like Charlie? She definitely remembered the other girl from high school but the one thing she remembered most was that she was with that crazy asshole Bain.

Brittany was just glad that he had decided not to show up to the reunion. Made everybody's lives easier.

Regardless of what she thought, Nathan looked as if he was in thought, something going through his mind. For a moment, she had a bad feeling about him and she could only pray that it wasn't because he was African American. She didn't want to be accused of racism, you know.

"You know what? Sure, I'll help," Nathan said.

"Thank you all," Gary said, even though Kenny was eyeing Nathan suspiciously. "You have no idea what this means."

"Not yet they don't," Gabriel said. "We're going to need to take this somewhere safe where no one who would be listening in on us can hear us. I suppose we're going to have to go up to the City of Heaven before we can continue."

* * *

Something was off with Tammy but Charlie was not in the mood to look further into it. If something was wrong, she hoped that her little sister would come to her about it. In the meantime, she still had a book that she needed to write and for once she was getting something done.

It was pretty exciting.

Yet the recollection of how Tammy was maybe a little too interested in what she thought about Nathan was a cause for concern. Well, maybe not concern and more like the teen was up to something. But you got the gist of it. Why was Tammy fascinated by her love life all of a sudden? Not that there was a love life but…

Like hell any of you needed to know about it.

Yeah, Nathan seemed nice but Charlie wasn't taken with first impressions. It was rare that a first impression was the true self of the person and she could count on one hand how many times that was the case.

So she was just going to, you know, do her job and write something down for once. She had a deadline and couldn't put it off forever like some people on the internet would.

And then the doorbell rang. If it was Nathan again, she was punching him in the face. She was on a roll here and this was just bad timing on his part. Getting up, she stomped out of the study and headed for the front door, swearing and grumbling under her breath.

This had better be good.

"Hello Charlie," Damien greeted, smirking while his red eyes lit up at the sight of her.

She slammed the door shut.

Not a second later the doorbell was ringing. Still in front of the door, Charlie nearly tore the door off and snarled, "_What?_"

"Is that anyway to speak to me?" Damien asked with a mock-pout.

"Don't try and pull an innocent act on me. I've seen you at your worst and no I don't mean when you're committing an evil deed," Charlie hissed. "I mean acting like a teenage girl who just broke up with her boyfriend, that kind of worst."

"Then I guess there's no use with chitchat with you," Damien sighed as if he was under some heavy burden. Right. Like he knew what that felt like. "Charlie, I am holding you to the deal you made with my father. I need Beelzebub or at least his office by my side for the indeterminable future."

Charlie blinked at that. He was bringing up that old thing? But why?

As if reading her mind, Damien continued, "The task my father has assigned me has caught a snag. It seems like Heaven is making a pest of itself and preventing me from achieving my objectives. I wouldn't be surprised if this escalated."

"And coming to me isn't escalation," Charlie said calming, a hand gripping the door tightly.

"It most certainly is," Damien confirmed. "But I rather have you with me on the front lines now instead of waiting for the shit to hit the fan and then coming to you and have you fix it."

"Ah, so you want me to cause some damage and not get involved with damage control," Charlie said.

"No, I need you for damage control," Damien corrected.

"What makes you think I'm any good at that?" Charlie glared at him.

"Your boy toy," Damien said simply, his smirk growing.

"You are such an asshole," Charlie grumbled. "Both of you are."

"You have an obligation to my father and my father wants this sensitive situation taken care of," Damien said. "As much as I don't want to say it, I need you. I need what you can bring."

"And just what can I bring?" Charlie asked wryly.

"Certain resources…" Damien hinted at but did not say aloud.

"If that's the case…then I have a condition of my own," Charlie said.

"A condition?" Damien repeated.

"I need you to take me to Palo Alto," Charlie stated. "I have something I need to get there that will…improve the quality of my work."

"Why do I have the feeling that I'm not going to like this?" Damien asked.

* * *

Author's Note: I'd like to take this time to give some credit to **ShadowMajin** for helping me out with Ongkanon, the angel whose name not even the narrator can remember. Yes, Ongkanon is the name of a real angel if you are wondering.


	12. The Book of Nemesis

Author's Note: And here's the first post of 2013. Hope everybody had a safe holiday. This chapter came at a fast pace mainly because I had an idea of how I wanted it to go. Can't say the same for the next chapter but it'll be coming out in due time. Might take a little bit longer since I have class starting up next week. Damn, I haven't updated a story twice in one week in a long time, haven't I? Don't get used to it. Anyway, a plot device that I came up with a few weeks ago is being introduced. If the title of this chapter doesn't give it away, I don't know what will. As a bit of a spoiler, it'll be driving the plot from here on in. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, graphic imagery

The Book of Nemesis

Butters couldn't believe that he was late but he had had some car trouble that had prevented him from arriving on time for the last event scheduled for the reunion. He hoped nobody would hold it against him. He was trying his best, you know.

Power walking through the parking lot, he approached the entrance to the bowling alley. He wiped off imaginary dirt from the coat he wore, trying to make himself more presentable to his former classmates. This was going to be the last time he saw any of them for quite some time and he didn't want to leave them all on the wrong note.

Sure that he was the best that he could be, he entered the bowling alley, expecting to hear the sounds of bowling balls ramming into bowling pins.

What he got was absolute silence.

Curious, he ventured further into the building. The place was empty he found, even after he called out to see if there was indeed anyone here. Nothing. The lights were on, the bowling ball dispensers were running. The monitors keeping track of the games were fired up. But no one was here.

"Aw geez, I hope I'm not the only one showing up," Butters said to himself.

* * *

Before one could go into Heaven, one first had to pass through the Pearly Gates and St. Peter. However, if you have an escort, you got to pass by without incident and since St. Peter was half deaf and on the verge of going senile, it would make such an attempt all the more easier.

At least that's how Gabriel explained it.

"This is so great," Cartman said, rubbing his hands together and eyes alight with anticipation. "I get to see Heaven. Maybe I can get the ten thousand dollars you get when you come here now instead of after I die."

"What makes you think someone like you can get into Heaven?" Wendy replied rhetorically.

Naturally, Cartman had to answer though it wasn't in a rhetorical fashion. "Why shouldn't I? I'm a devout follower of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I fight the good fight to prevent the Jews from making the world a worse place. I am not part of a minority and have a soul unlike someone who is Ginger. Why wouldn't I get in?"

"Get comfortable, I have a list somewhere," Wendy said.

"Oh ha ha. You're just scared," Cartman accused of her. "You're scared that you haven't lived a humble and pious life and that you won't get in. Well, sucks to be you, hippie. I'll be sure to take a lot of photos and that way you can at least see what it's like to be in the wonderful land of Heaven."

"Halt!" Gabriel called out from the head of the group. "Behold! The Pearly Gates that guard Heaven from all intruders and invaders." The angel gestured grandly with an arm to gates that were quite huge but not pearly at all. Actually, they looked more like gold than anything. So then why were they called the Pearly Gates? With a booming voice, Gabriel called out, "Open the gates! It is the Archangel Gabriel!"

From high up and behind the gates, another voice called out "Open the gates!"

The gates shuddered and then slowly began to open, a bright light beyond them. It was hard to see anything behind it but Wendy figured that was the point. Those who had yet to enter weren't allowed to see what was there.

Then a figured emerged from the light and telling by the wings and how old he looked, Wendy guessed that this was St. Peter.

Before St. Peter could say anything, Gabriel said, "This party is with me. We won't be too long, hopefully."

"What? What party? I wasn't told there was a party!" St. Peter demanded.

"There isn't any party. I mean this group," Gabriel tried again.

"What? Whatever. But I want to be invited to that party," St. Peter grumbled.

"Fine," Gabriel sighed. Then to the rest of them, he said, "The path is open. Let us enter."

Wendy squared her shoulders and readied herself. She was about to enter the one place that everybody wanted to be. It was going to be great. It was going to be fantastic. It was going to be—OW! What the hell!

Wendy jolted back away from the gates, crying out and attracting the attention of everyone around her.

"Wendy? Is something wrong?" Gary asked worriedly.

"Something shocked me!" Wendy exclaimed. She couldn't understand why.

"Oh, that means that you can't enter," Gabriel said helpfully.

"What? But why?" Wendy protested. Getting a good look of who was in front of her, she saw nothing but guys. Her eyes narrowed at this. "Oh, I see. There's sexual discrimination going on here."

"Whatever do you mean?" Gabriel asked, confused.

"You don't allow women in here!" Wendy accused. "You've made a bad enemy, pal. I'm a lawyer and I'm going to sue your asses for—"

"That's why," Gabriel said simply, stopping her midsentence.

"What's why?" Wendy demanded.

"You're a lawyer," Gabriel explained. "Lawyers are not allowed in Heaven." He pointed towards a small plaque just to a side of the Pearly Gates to emphasize his point.

NO LAWYERS ALLOWED

Aw man.

"Ha! Sucks to be you!" Cartman taunted from beside her. "This is great. A Heaven where Wendy can't get in! Don't worry, I'll be sure to document this historical occasion and—OW! What the fuck?!"

As he had been speaking, Cartman had started walking ahead of her but then experienced the same thing she had and had to back up back to her side.

"This is odd," Gabriel said. "You're not a lawyer too, are you?"

"Of course not! What the fuck is going on?" Cartman cried out.

"Well if you're not a lawyer and nowadays not much is kept out of Heaven," Gabriel mused out loud, "you'd have to be a bigoted, anti-Semitic, minority discriminating, practically pure evil, Mel Gibson-worshipping, sociopathic asshole to not be allowed in."

"But I'm not sociopathic!" Cartman protested. "And I don't see a sign like that anywhere!"

"Under the no lawyers one," Gabriel said.

And sure enough…

NO BIGOTED ANTI-SEMITIC MINORITY DISCRIMINATING PRACTICALLY PURE EVIL MEL GIBSON-WORSHIPPING SOCIOPATHIC ASSHOLES ALLOWED

"Oh come on!" Cartman shouted.

"Sorry, those are the rules as decreed by God himself," Gabriel shrugged. "You two are going to have to wait here until we come back for you. St. Peter can keep you company until then."

"Wait what about Jews? You don't let Jesus-killing Jews in, right?" Cartman asked with desperation in his voice.

"All Jews go to Heaven regardless of their Jesus-killing status," Gabriel answered. "It was the least God could do for having them build the pyramids."

"You mean…that Jesus-killing Jewrat Kyle gets to go into Heaven…and I can't?" Cartman asked in a small voice though no one deigned to answer him. "No… No. NOOOOO!"

Wendy sighed in disappointment as everyone else got to walk pass her and into Heaven, the gates closing behind them. Now she had to wait out here with a devastated Cartman and a practically senile St. Peter.

Joy.

* * *

On the outskirts of Palo Alto, California was a small community known as Stanford. Within that community was a well-known college of the same name. However, that is not where we are going to go.

Instead, we go into a basement of sorts where dirt and grime have taken their hold on the tiles that line the walls. From up above, dim lighting fixtures light up the spacious room, revealing wheeled carts that held many sharp and blunt instruments on their flat surface, thick cables snaking on the floor, a revolving chair, and a floor drain in the middle of it all.

The revolving chair had an occupant this fine night, an unwilling occupant but an occupant nonetheless. He was stripped down to his white briefs, his mushy gut visible and hairy chest a sight to behold even though his limbs were strapped down tightly. Fear was apparently in the man's eyes but there was also anger, like who dared do something like this to a man like _him_. He couldn't vocalize his displeasure due to the ball gag in his mouth but he could still make grunts and growls.

In front of the restrained man stood another who wore an odd plastic coating that covered the majority of his body. It could be vaguely seen that there was casual clothing beneath the plastic but it was obscured by the plastic material, not that it mattered. The only portion of this man's body that was not covered by plastic was the head but that was hidden away by a flimsy Halloween mask. Black in color with a cowl design, the face was made of mesh, cloaking the face but giving a vague outline of a cheek.

This masked man stood before the restrained one, arms crossed and fingers tapping against a clothed bicep in thought. What was he going to do? What delights would be bring out of this walking carcass of meat and flesh? There was just so much to choose from.

"Don't look at me like that," the masked man chided. "We're more alike than you can imagine. Yet that's not why you're here today. Oh no, that's far from the reason why. What? You don't like my charming voice? Well, I'll give you that one. I've been told that it's one that you have to grow used to, an acquired taste if you will."

The masked man began pacing around his captive like a predator about to pounce, eyeing and calculating the man. Lazily, he unfolded his arms and reached out to a wheeled cart and picked up one of the items, a large hunting knife with a handle made of cool metal. The masked man gave the impression of admiring the blade, almost fondly if that could be said, but because of the mask you couldn't quite tell.

The restrained man was eyeing the knife warily, trying to put two and two together and figure out what his captor planned to do with the weapon.

"You know, you probably think right now that I'm some kind of freak," the masked man commented lightly. "That I'm some sick individual that needs to be either put down or sterilized. But that's not why you are in that chair right now. If you want the honest truth, I'll give it to you right now. I hate that little smug smirk you get on your face whenever things seem to be going your way. You and I have never met formally but I've seen you around. The dislike was automatic; I just didn't like you the moment I saw you. But I've been close a few times and always at a time when that stupid little smile of yours was pasted on that ridiculous face."

He continued to circle the bound man even as he monologued but his circles were getting smaller as if he was walking in a spiral. He toyed with the large knife in his hands with a familiarity that said he had done this before. Soon enough, the masked man came to a stop in front of the captive and was not moved but the baleful glare he was given.

"It's a good thing you do not know my name or even know of me," the masked man continued. "No one will connect me to you. But you know what's even better? It's that you are so fucking stupid. It just made it easier to abduct you. The easiest in fact. That must piss you off so much…"

The restrained man shook in the chair, trying to lunge at him but ultimately held back. There was just so much hatred in those eyes and if this man were free…

"You're lively, a fighter. Good," the masked man said. "So pissed off at how easily I made you powerless…just as much as you piss me off with that Goddamn smirk!" Without warning, the masked man stabbed the knife right into the man's knee and he reveled in the muffled scream of agony. The masked man twisted the knife ever so slightly, back and forth, grinding the blade into the bone, ligaments, and tendon.

"Go ahead, scream. No one will hear you." the masked man whispered to the wounded man. "We're going to have a good time, you and I. The only question is what condition you'll be left in." Jerking the knife out, the masked man rammed the butt end of the knife into the side of the man's face, interrupting the muffled screams. Of course, the whimpers and moans didn't stop.

Oh yes, they were just getting started…

A loud _brrriiiiinggg!_ caused him to pause and look up. That sounded like…someone else was in the building and calling for him.

Let's put the thoughts of torture and death on hold for a moment.

"Excuse me. I have to attend to something," he told his victim as he spun as on his heel and marched towards the far wall. Pressed against it was a small table with a laptop on it and on the portable computer was a split screen showing various images of locations outside the room. One of them held the image of a couple in front of a door.

As if to underscore it, one of the individuals raised their arm and pressed a small button, the ringing from earlier sounding simultaneously. The masked man whipped his head to the left where dead ahead was a large, metal, sliding door. The masked man gripped his mask and pulled it off, revealing brown hair that was in disarray and pale skin that looked as if it rarely saw the light of day. Heterochromatic eyes flashed with irritation and the man made his way to the door though he took care to step carefully and not have the plastic he was wearing squeak out his presence.

Retrospectively, he hadn't taken such care when he had marched over to the computer but at the moment, the thought hadn't occurred to him. By the time he had reached the door, whoever it was that was on the other side was banging a knock against the metal surface. Peering through a small peephole, the man spied out who it was on the other side…

…and groaned in exasperation.

What the hell was she doing here?

"Open up asshole! I know you're in there. You've been smelled out!" a muffled voice declared followed by some more banging. With a self-suffering sigh, the young man with some difficulty, thanks to the plastic, unlocked the door and pulled on the handle, sliding the metal barricade open.

"What are you doing here?" Bain Cynis demanded as he glared at Charlotte White.

"What? I can't visit?" Charlotte retorted as she pushed her way in. Looking him up and down, she added, "Well you're dressed up fancy."

"I'm busy," Bain stated. "Now is not a good time."

"I can see that," Charlotte said as she spotted his latest victim who was wriggling in his seat, making pathetic sounds to try to get her attention and maybe help him.

"I ask again, what are you doing here?" Bain repeated his earlier demand. "I wasn't aware there were red-eye flights this late." He gripped the handle to the door and began to slide it shut only to be stopped by the other person Charlotte had been with. Damn, he had forgotten about the other. A costly oversight if Charlotte hadn't been one of them. "And what are you doing here?" Bain asked, eyeing Damien suspiciously.

"I'm her ride," Damien deadpanned as he himself pushed by the sociopath.

"Great, let's have a party," Bain spat out. "Invite the whole neighborhood why don't you?"

"Sounds like a smashing idea," Damien commented as he strolled up to the bound man who was practically screaming at the newcomers to help him. "So you're sending another one down to my father?"

"Would you prefer it if I gave him a first class ticket?" Bain growled as he slid the door shut.

"You haven't changed," Charlie said. "Just started?"

Bain raised an eyebrow at her as if asking _isn't that obvious?_

"So how'd you get this one?" Charlotte asked.

"Anonymous note that claimed I had some dirt on him. Come alone or it goes public," Bain said dully as he came up to Charlotte's side. "He was smarter than a few others. He was packing heat when he went to the location, hoped to 'silence' me and accuse me of a crime to justify it. The part he fucked up on was that he brought the only evidence of my trap in his front pocket."

"What'd you do to bring him down?" Charlotte asked.

"The plan was always to dose him up with some tranq and smuggle him here," Bain smirked. "That part didn't change."

"And what'll be the theme for this one? Which killer are you copying?" Charlotte asked.

"Haven't decided," Bain shrugged. "Carroll Cole. Jeffery Dahmer. Maybe Colin Ireland just to piss him off."

"I didn't know you did homages to female killers," Charlotte said.

"Carroll Cole was a man whose mother gave him a female name because she was a bitch and didn't like men," Bain corrected. "His is a case where the legal system failed as they kept putting him back on the streets again and again. Even for his final murder, the police were going to let him go despite his obvious guilt. There was plenty of evidence to charge him but they thought the death was an _accident_. Texas' finest, y'all."

"I find it disturbing that you would know all that," Damien said.

"The Antichrist sees my encyclopedic knowledge of various serial killers disturbing," Bain said, tilting his head slightly. "Should I be insulted?"

"I'm not here because I want to be, mortal," Damien stated. "I'm here for my former babysitter and I need the aid that her office can provide me. I'd rather do without you."

"I'm touched," Bain said dryly. Returning his attention to Charlotte, he made the contents of his mind very clear. "What is it?"

"Damien's picking a fight with Heaven and I figure he could use some brains," Charlotte stated. "You're the only person I know who has that even though you're crazy as shit."

"I would imagine that Damien here has access to some of the greatest minds in history," Bain replied. "I have no care what goes on between Heaven and Hell so long as I'm left out of it."

"He's spoken his answer," Damien said. "This whole trip was a waste of time."

"Not yet," Charlotte scowled at the Antichrist. "Bain, you know what's going to happen to you after you die, right?"

"All too well," Bain growled, eyes darkening at the memory. "Ten years ago during that one winter, I got a taste of it. The prospect of being immersed in a river of boiling blood and fire does not appeal to me but the outer ring of the seventh circle of Hell seems to be my destination. Why?"

"You're a smart fucker. Why don't you use that brain of yours," Charlotte taunted, tapping his head much to his annoyance. "You help out Hell and they'll owe you one. Maybe you won't have to go to the Seventh Circle."

"Doubtful," Damien chuckled.

"Not everyone gets lucky like you, dear Charlotte, and has Satan cut them a break with a favorable deal," Bain glowered. "But you do raise a good point. A very good point."

"So what's your answer?" Charlotte asked.

"If you can get me out of that punishment, I do believe I can lend a hand to your cause," Bain drawled out, leaning closer to the author. "Of course I will need your word, preferable something unbreakable and written, of course."

"You're exceeding your authority Charlie," Damien warned.

"I have some cred with your father. It will be his decision, won't it?" Charlotte challenged. Getting the sense that negotiations were over, she glanced at Bain's latest victim. "So who's this guy? He's not another talent agent, is he?"

"Campus police," Bain answered. "Reminds me too much of Eric Cartman. I wanted to improve the grounds of Stanford and disposing of him will be a good start."

"Even though you know your afterlife, you still continue your transgressions?" Damien questioned.

"It doesn't matter if I kill one or one million, the punishment is still the same," Bain replied dismissively. "If I'm damned to that, I might as well enjoy my time up here, wouldn't you agree?"

"How about you finish up here so that we can go," Charlotte grumbled. "I don't like this _Saw_ atmosphere you have going here. You can do better than that."

"Already nagging me and we aren't even married?" Bain commented as he casually stabbed the remodeled Winslow into the restrained man's throat. Out of spite, Bain twisted the knife before pulling it out and began cleaning off the blade, taking care of it with a tenderness rarely expressed towards other people. "Dispose of that, will you?" he asked of his "guests" as he sauntered over towards his laptop and began shutting the system down. "I'm guessing I don't have time to make an homage this time around."

Behind the murderer's back, Charlotte and Damien shared a silent conversation, language conveyed mostly through facial features, including twitches, nods, shakes, and glares. It ended with Charlotte raising an eyebrow at the Antichrist and Damien rolled his eyes as he snapped his fingers.

The corpse erupted into a blaze of hellfire that greedily devoured it. It took less than ten seconds but once the fire was gone, there was nothing of the body left and only blackened cushions left behind that suggested a fire had even existed.

"Thank you," Bain offered generously as he shut the laptop closed. Turning back to them while reaching towards a chair where a black trenchcoat hung from its back, he asked, "Where to?"

* * *

"Stay on your best behavior," Gabriel warned. "You are about to enter the Portal of Joy."

Before the group of mostly South Park natives stood the doorway to the actual city of Heaven which happened to resemble a woman's labia. Anyone of the female persuasion looked quite uncomfortable at the sight.

"Fantastic, isn't it?" Gabriel asked in awe.

No one had the guts to answer him.

Kenny didn't have to look back at everyone to know that in some way they were in awe of this place, as well as anxious. The holiness of this place could make anyone mortal nervous about whether they should be here or not. Even when he had the chance to show up here, he still felt that way. There was a sanctity here that was not to be disturbed, especially by those who were impure by nature.

In essence, human.

With maybe the exception of Gary who looked like he felt right at home, Kenny was the only one unbothered by their surroundings. He had seen them before and while it took some time getting used to it, he had long since passed the time when he had gotten used to it.

The denizens of this place however…

"Gabriel! What do you think you're doing?" Uriel demanded as he stomped towards them. Kenny didn't fail to notice how the females of this group couldn't help but stare at the angel's musculature. "And where's Mysterion? You just have—oh, it's our Keanu Reeves. Not as good as that dark vigilante but I suppose he'll do. But the others! They shouldn't be here!"

"Michael already gave me his permission," Gabriel said. "We're going to need their help if we want to totally pwn the Antichrist and whatever he throws at us."

"As if we need mortal help," Uriel grumbled. "This is starting to look like that time we outsourced our tech support to India."

"You don't know that they'll give crappy service," Gabriel argued.

Beside Kenny, Stan leaned over and whispered to the blond, "Is it just me or are some of these guys dicks?"

"It's not just you," Kenny answered somewhat sadly.

From there they continued forth to the Mammary Courtyard where they had to avoid looking at a few gazebos that happened to resemble women's boobs. Well, most of them looked away; Kenny would never pass up the chance to gaze at some voluptuous breasts even if they weren't squeezable whatsoever.

He had to get his fix somewhere!

"Ah, so you've returned," Michael greeted them and was it Kenny or did the archangel quickly try to hide an uncapped dry erase marker behind his back? "And you've brought recruits. Very good."

"If you will take over," Gabriel bowed his way out of responsibility which Michael readily accepted.

"Of course," Michael agreed as his presence seemed to envelop the group of mortals. Kenny felt more than saw Brittany sidle up next to him, more than likely cowed by the radiance that was Michael. If she only knew the truth… "Gary," he nodded at the Mormon, "Keanu Reeves," to him, "friends of Gary and Keanu Reeves," to the rest of them, "I welcome you to the city of Heaven. It's best we get right down to business."

"Whatever's best," Gary said, patting the shoulder of Kyra, most likely to comfort her Kenny supposed.

"There's been a lot of activity on Earth," Michael began as he turned to a dry erase board that had been set to a side. "The Antichrist is gathering whatever forces he can on Earth and so far, we've been able to count at least four individuals he has won over." As he spoke, the archangel drew a circle that was supposed to represent the Earth and drew a line that had arrows on either side of it to try and show the enemy's movements. "Seeing as how we have eight to his four and if you count the two who are with St. Peter and Gary and Keanu Reeves, that would be twelve," he wrote the numbers on the board, "and that means we're, like, three times stronger than he is."

He brought the felt end of the marker up to his nose and took a quick sniff of it.

"Now, I am not going to pretend that the forces of Hell do not have spies up here, which they most likely do, and it's going to be a matter of time until Damien learns of our superior numbers," Michael continued. "He's going to go back home," he drew two lines that descended below the circle representing Earth, "to Hell where he'll most likely whine and complain until his father," he added two curved lines to the bottom of each of the straight lines he had just drawn to represent the vastness of Hell, "agrees to give him access to Hell's armies."

The archangel stopped in his briefing to take another smell of the marker.

Kenny and co. stared at the drawing on the board that Michael had just made.

"Is that a dick?" Clyde asked pointing at it.

Instead of looking at the board, Michael looked at what was behind the board and towards an oddly shape tower in the distance. "Damn it, I told them not to use that design for the Tower of Phallic Pride! Now what's God going to think about our watchtower?"

"I wasn't talking about that," Clyde spoke in a small voice.

"Huh?" Michael glanced at the mortal who was shrinking in on himself. Kenny felt some pity for his former classmate but he wasn't about to save him from the archangel's attention any time soon. The archangel just stared Clyde down, his eyes not blinking once which was a bit creepy in Kenny's book.

"Um, can I ask a question?" Nathan asked, raising his hand up a bit like he was a kid in grade school.

"Shoot, sport," Michael nodded.

"I was thinking, is there a chance we could bring some more people in on this? You know, bolster our ranks?" Nathan asked.

"Is there someone you have in mind? I wouldn't object to most people," Michael said.

"How about, I don't know, Charlotte White?" Nathan suggested.

"Ooh, sorry, no deal there. Try again," Michael answered automatically.

"Why not?" Nathan frowned.

"About ten and a half years ago, Satan made a deal with this mortal Charlotte White. In exchange for her services, she would take on the position of Beelzebub, and she succeeded in her task," Michael explained. "She's a member of the forces of Hell and according to our sources, she's one of Satan's favorites."

Nathan opened and shut his mouth, unable to say anything to that. To Kenny, it looked like someone had punched him in the gut. Did he have a crush on ol' Lottery Ticket? Sucked to be him, he supposed.

"Can we get on with this?" Craig asked, an edge in his voice that hinted at impatience.

"Right," Michael nodded. "Seeing as how the Antichrist is going to act like a whinny bitch and get his father's army, maybe get Charlotte White to help out, some of the other archangels have gotten together and decided that this might be our best chance."

When Michael didn't continue, Stan decided to be the one to who asked the pertinent question, "Best chance for what?"

"Didn't I say that?" Michael asked in reply frowning. "You probably weren't paying attention. As I had said, this looks like it could be our best chance to get our hands on the Book."

"What book?" Gary asked patiently.

"The Book of Nemesis," Michael answered ominously.

The group of South Park residents, both past and present, all traded looks with one another. The Book of…Nemesis? What was that?

"What is the Book of Nemesis?" Gary asked.

"Basically, its part two of the Book of Revelations," Michael explained. "It foretells the future and not just some kind of vague predictions, I mean, it's specific. Whatever it says is coming true, even if God says it's wrong."

"But doesn't that, like, prove God infallible and cause the end of existence?" Bebe asked. When everybody stared at her with "what the fuck?" looks, she huffed and crossed her arms. "What? Can't a blonde know something?"

"In most cases, you'd be right," Michael admitted. "However, as God Himself once explained it to me, the Book of Nemesis came before Him. He never gave me the details but for a while God used that Book to rise to power on Earth and in the Heavens. Greek Gods? Gone. Egyptian Gods? Who cares. Native American spirits? What Native American spirits. The Book of Nemesis' power was so great it even spooked God Himself."

"So you mean God being the one and only god is not really true?" Gary's voice cracked. "Are you saying He used this book to seize power?"

"No, just crush all the upstarts and show those Egyptian Gods why you don't enslave Jews to build your pyramids," Michael said.

"So…what happened? You said this would be our best chance to get the Book of Nemesis," Kenny said. "Do you mean God no longer has this book?"

"Yes, God feared the Book of Nemesis to the point He didn't trust Himself with it," Michael intoned. "And because it somehow, impossibly, precedes our Lord, God cannot destroy it. So, according to God, He gave it to the one person He knew wouldn't use it if only because his pride alone wouldn't allow him to."

"And that is?" Kenny pressed.

"Satan," Michael answered calmly.

Every earthling exclaimed, "WHAT?"

"Why would He give Satan of all people this book that supposedly can prove God wrong?" Stan continued to exclaim.

"Because, mortal, Satan's pride wouldn't allow him to," Gabriel stepped forward. "Satan would rather take God's throne by himself and his own efforts than to use the universe's cheat codebook. And also, if the Book of Nemesis says God is wrong, the stuff about Him being infallible doesn't count."

"But if we can retrieve this tome that should have been but wasn't included in the Bible, then we can finally put an end to Satan's ambitions, hell, even prevent the Apocalypse from happening at all!" Michael picked back up. "We believe that you mortals have the means and talent to get your hands on that Book and return it to us where it rightfully belongs."

They all remained silent, whether it was because of the magnitude of their task or wondering how they hell they were going to get their hands on the book was not apparent.

"So how do you expect us to do this?" Craig asked breaking the silence.

"Beats me," Michael shrugged.

In Japanese anime, there is a phenomenon known as the facefault. If such a thing was physically possible, that would be the reaction among the mortal earthlings.

"Your exploits in your mountain town are well known to us," Michael continued. "If anyone can sneak into Hell and steal the Book of Nemesis, you're the ones to do it."

"Sneak into Hell?" Stan repeated, his throat dry.

"Isn't stealing one of the Ten Commandments?" Gary wondered. "'Thou shalt not steal?'"

"It's not stealing!" Michael defended. "It's taking back what belonged to us in the first place! Totally legit!"

Unable to argue, not because they accepted the angel's argument but because they recognized that they were dealing with an idiot, Stan said, "I supposed we'll get right on this then. Sooner the better."

"That's the spirit!" Michael praised.

"Yeah, let's—" Gary began but was then interrupted.

"Not you Gary. We can't risk you going into Hell where you'll be at your weakest," Michael stated. "You'll stay up here for a while while we get you trained in using your Messiah powers. You'll need it for the next battle against the Antichrist."

"Does this have to end with violence?" Gary protested.

"It's not only the answer, it's the solution!" Michael declared. "As for the rest of you, Godspeed. You'll need all the help you can get in your sacred mission. I don't envy you for what you have to do."

* * *

"This is utter bullcrap!" Cartman roared, glaring at the half-deaf St. Peter. "I should be in there! I don't deserve this kind of treatment! I've done my Christian duty I don't know how many times! I shouldn't be excluded on some technicality! If anyone deserves to be in Heaven, it's me!"

"What?" St. Peter yelled. "Led Zeppelin's music is technical? What does that even mean?"

"This joke is so lame that it's a drinking game and an 'it's so lame' joke!" Cartman grumbled.

"Why don't you stop your bitching and moaning?" Wendy groused. "You can yell it for all eternity, the fact is neither of us are allowed in so deal with it."

"Hey, I'm not going to lie down and accept this!" Cartman spat at his only company that didn't have hearing issues. "It's not fair! It's discriminatory!"

"It's exclusive to Mormons," St. Peter mentioned, bringing into question whether he was hearing impaired or not. Neither Cartman nor Wendy paid much attention to this fact though Cartman definitely heard the Mormon bit.

"Mormons? But they're cultists!" Cartman exclaimed.

"They have actual beliefs and values like the rest of us and are recognized as a religious institution," Wendy said dully. "Only ignorant, willfully blind extremists like you are still on about that."

"Well screw you too, Wendy!" Cartman snapped. "It's not fair! I'm a good Christian! I'm part of the majority!"

"You've tried to kill all the Jews," Wendy pointed out. "If all Jews go to Heaven, then God must still like them and trying to kill them all is bound to put you on the naughty list."

"Why don't you shut the hell up Wendy?" Cartman growled. "You're not adding much of anything to this conversation. If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything."

Wendy snorted but said nothing. Yeah, that's what he thought.

"Those assholes in there don't know what they're missing," Cartman continued to rant. "I was the first to volunteer! Yet the black guy who is the last one to say yes is given a free pass! I have more to offer than any of them! In fact, I'll prove it! I'll prove myself and then they gotta let me in!"

"And what do you have in mind to prove yourself?" Wendy asked sarcastically.

"I…don't…know…" Cartman trailed off. Adopting a thinking pose, he wracked his brain, trying to figure out the fastest and easiest way to have Heaven begging for him to enter the city. "But I'll figure something out! And it'll be so great, all the angels will be saying, 'Oh Cartman! You're so brave and sexy' and 'I want to have your babies Cartman' and 'here's a million bucks for saving our asses Cartman. No, no, it is tax-free, in fact, have _two_ million, no, a billion!' And I'll be like 'It was no big deal'."

"What world do you live in?" Wendy asked, sounding shocked but that must have been because his awesomeness was so overwhelming.

He knew, he knew, sometimes even he amazed himself.

Then a thought occurred to him.

This might not be cheap. Whatever he was going to have to do was going to cost him money, whether it be not going to Melanie Wishcast's house to fix her plumbing problem of the day or having to dig into what little savings he had. He still didn't know what he was going to do some expense-wise; he had no idea of how much he was going to need. Second, he had no idea how much money he was going to lose by not working while waiting for his chance.

That just settled it then. Until further notice, he was just going to have to shop at Black Market and as for some cash, well, he had an idea of what to do already.

All he needed now was an opportunity.

* * *

It wasn't easy crossing a distance of one thousand miles and back just using Satanic powers. It was harder to ferry others along with you. Nevertheless, Damien managed it though he was quite tired after it. The things he had to do to show Heaven up. Charlie better damn appreciate this.

South Park was still in one piece, so Damien took that as a sign that nothing had happened while he was away. Well, time to get on home and get some rest. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day and all.

Now, he had his own residence somewhere in this town. He had trouble remembering where exactly it was but he would like to point out that there was a good reason for this. You see, after he called it a day at the office, the home he generally found himself in belonged to his "aide." What? He liked going over to Kyle's. So much so he made himself at home.

And so what if he ditched Charlie and her boytoy in the front yard? He'd be seeing them in the morning. What he wanted right now was to see Kyle and—and what was that expression on his Jew's face? He looked…upset about something.

Hand still on the doorknob and the door wide open to advertise his presence, Damien found what looked like a sulking Kyle on the couch. To be fair, Damien had a little trouble telling the difference between Kyle's sulking face and his pissed off face. They were so alike that they could be interchanged with one another.

Without a second thought, Damien crossed the distance between him and his (snicker) aide, and as soon as he was sure Kyle was looking at him and only him, he demanded, "What happened?"

"Cerberus is gone," Kyle said dully. Hmm, sounded like Kyle was both sulking and pissed off. And wait, did he say the dog was gone? He knew that the guard dog from Hell wasn't mentioned much in recent stories but he also knew that Kyle had formed an attachment to the beast.

"Gone? What happened?" Damien reiterated his previous question.

"Your father showed up here with no warning and said he needed Cerberus back," Kyle answered, his voice starting to rise with each word he said. Ah, now we were getting some liveliness. "Do you have any idea of what the hell is going on?"

"My father already knows that I gifted Cerberus to you," Damien said. "I am just as puzzled as you are."

"Good riddance I say, damn guard dogs."

"And then there's this asshole," Kyle full out glared at the…"guest" that Damien hadn't been aware of until this moment. He was slipping. Either he was more tired than he thought and used too much power or he was growing soft and not taking a quick sniff of the place before entering.

"And who might you be?" Damien growled at the intruder, standing up from his crouch.

"I 'ust 'appened to be in ze neighborhood and got a call from Charlie," the large man spoke with a French accent. It didn't take long for Damien to recall this acquaintance.

"And when did Charlie call you?" Damien asked somewhat pleasantly, his ire hidden by the pleasantness.

"Before we left," Charlie answered for him, poking her head from the doorway. "Why are you here Christophe? Why not at my place?"

"You weren't zere," Christophe DeLorne, a.k.a. ze Mole, shrugged his shoulders. 'I remembered you told me zat zis involved a certain Antichrist so I came to the one place I knew he would show up at."

"Why are you bringing him into this?" Damien demanded of his supposed subordinate.

"Extra hands, mostly," Charlie said. "The moment I mentioned the opportunity he would get to bitchslap God, he waived his usual fee."

"Fuckeng cocksucker," Christophe proved her point.

"We aren't going to be going against God any time soon," Damien stated.

"'Is angels will serve as a substitute," Christophe replied. "Anyzing to stick it to zat cocksucking bastard."

"What the hell is all this? Is this some kind of Hell convention? And why is it in _my_ house?" Kyle demanded angrily. "And what is that _psycho_ doing outside my door?"

A glance towards Charlie showed that her boytoy was peeking in and giving Christophe a displeased stare. Right, Charlie's male friends happened to dislike each other to an insane degree. And these were going to be his allies?

"I never agreed to have him," he gestured to Christophe, "involved with this. What makes you think I will agree to his involvement?"

"He's working for me. That's why. Got a problem?" Charlie stated.

Damien released an inhuman growl. It hadn't been two hours since he approached Charlie and already he was getting a headache. If his father hadn't liked this mortal girl so much, oh, he'd give her what for!

"Look, can anybody who's tied up in this whole mess to get back at God or whatever please take it out of my house," Kyle groaned as he flopped back into the couch. "You can stay if you know of any way to get my dog back," he added generously.

"Very well then," Damien said. "We'll continue this discussion tomorrow—"

"Preferably not in my living room," Kyle cut it.

"—when we're all rested up and if you still want to get Cerberus, we'll take a trip back home to get him back," Damien finished.

A beat passed and Kyle said, "We?"

"Whatever reason my father had to take Cerberus back has to be important," Damien told him. "He might be willing to listen if there is more than one voice bitching at him. There's not a thing I can think of that would allow me to figure out his motivation."

"And to get my dog back, I have to go to the one place I never wanted to go…not after you dragged me down into it," Kyle subtly glared at Damien. Sighing, he murmured, "I do miss him…and Dip…and Marley. Fine. Whatever."

"Good," Damien leaned down and placed his lips lightly on Kyle's forehead. "I'll be nice and let you have the rest of tonight to yourself but don't think I've forgotten about our deal from earlier."

"Right, right," Kyle grumbled, looking away.

"So is ze lover's quarrel over?" Christophe asked.

Damien watched as Kyle's cheeks reddened in embarrassment. That's right, Kyle wasn't one for public displays of affection. He had conveniently forgotten about that, heh heh.

"Enough. We'll settle your involvement elsewhere," Damien ordered. "Now leave. All of you. We are all going to have a big day tomorrow. This might be the last time any of you get any rest."


	13. Drag Me to Hell Again

Author's Note: Another chapter within the week. On a roll here but how long that'll last, who knows? Major plot development in this one as well as a cameo. Warning, there is a spoiler for _Fiends_ in here but by now you've probably already read that one already. If not, then you're a newcomer or started with _Malicious Motives_ and/or did bother to read _Fiends_. Enjoy.

**CrownedSolider**: Odds are I'm going to continue highlighting that Brianna Bower/Tucker is not Brianna Vargas a few more times before this story is finished, as a running gag you could say. Also, so sure you know who the villains are? This chapter may prove…enlightening.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, graphic imagery

Drag Me to Hell…Again

When morning came and the sun peaked over the mountains, Kyle found himself being dragged to Hell.

A bit of a simplification but let him explain.

Everything had started like it normally did for him with the exception that Damien wasn't trying to spoon him this morning, his "side" of the bed empty for once. Using the shower to wake himself up, he was coming out of the bathroom clean and ready to get dressed when Damien barged into the bedroom.

Instead of being ogled, he was told to get dressed because they needed to go home, _now_. Kyle was about to argue that he was already home when a look from the mayor of South Park informed him that he meant a different home.

Damn it, he was going to be dragged back there, wasn't he?

From what few facts Kyle was able to draw out of the Antichrist, Damien had received intel from Hell's quite impressive intelligence gathering agency. There was a lot of movement going on in Heaven it seemed. More than was expected if the forces of Jehovah, or God as Christians called Him, than was the norm. And then there was the report of a group of South Park natives, still alive, going up there.

That was all Kyle was able to pry out of Damien but he suspected there was more. After all, Damien was recalling most of the demons that Satan had sent up to help him to come back with him to Hell. Two or three would be left to deal with the day to day running of City Hall and Kyle found that somewhat disturbing that the _elected_ mayor was being so neglectful of his duties.

But it wasn't just the demons Damien was taking back with them. There was Charlie and the guys she had brought into this mess and then there was Dillan who seemed quite excited at the prospect of meeting Satan himself. Who else…oh right, Craig's wife. Wasn't Craig missing her yet?

Immediately, the fact that Damien was taking along living people into Hell alarmed Kyle. How the hell (no pun intended) was he going to do that precisely?

"Hell's exit," Damien had shrugged in answer. "It's how I always go to and leave Hell. Of course, we'll have to cross the River Styx but that shouldn't be a problem."

So…there was an exit in Hell. An actual exit. One Kyle could have used when Damien had dragged him down there the first time. What, did it have a sign with the word exit glowing on it?

…

Yes. Yes it did.

"You can't hear it now but those are the screams of countless souls being tormented," Damien said to the group of them. "Just ahead, as you can see, is the River Styx. No, that's not water, that's lava so don't touch it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Charlie yawned, her arms crossed over her chest.

"If we go this way, we should find the docks and be able to hitch a boat to my father's realm," Damien continued to explain as if he was some kind of tour guide. "Allow me to remind you all that so long as you stay near me, you will be safe. If you get separated, you will be eternally fucked and no, you will not be leaving Hell anytime soon."

"Yes, yes, we understand. Can we go?" Christophe, _ze Mole_, grumbled.

"Your funeral," Damien shrugged as he led the group of mortals and demons to the boat docks. How wooden boats like those didn't catch on fire was a mystery to the Jew but he figured that he shouldn't ask too many questions. He most likely wouldn't understand the answers anyway.

The clamber of multiple feet, those with shoes and those with claws, was a cacophony against, again, the wooden material of the docks. Kyle kept an eye on the Antichrist, Damien heading for the nearest cloaked boatman in sight.

The nearest boatman looked in their direction and for a moment, Kyle was reminded of those Nazgul creatures from _The Lord of the Rings_. A black void for a face stared them down and Kyle had the feeling that he was looking at the face of evil itself. Glancing at the other boatmen that were keeping wide berth from them, Kyle didn't get the same sense of foreboding from them as he did this…charming specimen.

He repressed a shudder, not wanting to show any weakness to any of the guys here.

Damien came to a stop in front of this intimidating boatman and drew himself straighter. "I seek passage to the realm of Hell, boatman. We must leave at once."

The boatman raised a blackened hand and Kyle was a bit disgusted to note how bloated the hand was. In fact, there might have been a sign of frostbite in the fingers but Kyle had no idea what that meant. Back to the matter at hand, the hooded boatman lifted his hand up to the hood of its cloak and pulled it off.

And then Kyle knew he was looking at the face of pure evil.

"What are you lookin' at?" the fleshy, sneering, yet decayed face of South Park Independent School District's most infamous bus driver glared at them.

"Oh dear god in heaven," someone swore from behind but Kyle wasn't in the frame of mind to see who said it.

"What the fuck?" Damien murmured, eyes widening in horror.

Only now did subtle…and not so subtle differences become apparent. For one thing, the bus/boat driver had an impressive girth that none of the other boatmen had. He was also shorter. And the boat he was standing it seemed to be on the verge of taking on water/lava over the sides.

Now the way the other boatmen were positioned signified that they were all trying to put as much distance between them and the boat driver as possible. It made a lot more sense now.

The boat driver spat…something into the river of lava. Kyle didn't care to find out what exactly it was. "Well? Are ya gettin' on or not?" the boat driver sneered.

"I think we'll wait for the next one," Damien said, squirming under the squinty eyes of this disgruntled piece of filth.

"Ay AM the next boat. Get yer ass on the bus, I mean boat!" the boat driver roared.

"We could send someone ahead," someone suggested.

"Nope, no, gotta fuckin' schedule. You get on or I'm gettin' mah whoppin' stick," the boat driver threatened.

Fortunately, only some of them could fit into the boat. Unfortunately, only some of them could fit into the boat. Only those few who had mortal forms happened to be that group. Lucky them.

Of course, there was a slight delay.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Charlie groaned as Bain faced off with the boat driver, the still living sociopath and the dead boat driver staring one another down. "Do we really have to do this?"

"Yes," both the boat driver and Bain answered simultaneously without looking away from one another.

"This will only prolong our suffering," Damien groaned.

"Aye," Christophe agreed.

"How long is it going to take?" Dillan asked, fidgeting in his seat.

"Now," Charlie said as Bain looked away and took his seat right beside her. She patted the short man's back condolingly.

"Still got it," the boat driver chuckled as he pushed the boat away from the dock with his oar.

The remaining demons waved them goodbye as their trip into terror began.

* * *

Cartman didn't stay long with the others. Without even needing to ask, he knew they thought themselves better than him. They had been allowed past the not so Pearly Gates and got to see Heaven while he had to wait outside. He didn't need to take any of their crap!

However, he did hear talk about some book of nemesis, whatever that was, and that they had to sneak into Hell to get it. He had tried some subtle probing to find out if maybe that would help him out with getting into Heaven's good graces but what he was able to get wasn't much.

Of course, he did learn that you had to capitalize the b in Book and n in Nemesis, making it the Book of Nemesis. Why was he thinking about the Book of Genesis whenever that name came up? Whatever.

So the guys were going to try and get their hands on this Book of Nemesis and to do that they had to go down to Hell to get it. Well, if that wasn't an opportunity for him, Cartman didn't know what was. If he could get his hands on that book first, then Heaven would have to let him in and declare him a hero. Then he could get his hands on that ten thousand dollars! No wait, he could ask for more than ten thousand. A million! A billion! A trillion! And all tax free!

It wasn't going to be easy getting into Hell and the only sure way he knew of was to commit suicide. He wasn't going to do that so he needed to find another way.

Well, whatever he did, it was going to cost him money but he had thought up of a way to get some. He intended to pay it back…when the other person had died of natural causes but the intention was still there!

To Melanie Wishcast's house!

He pulled his piece of shit truck in front of his one consistent customer, parking it haphazardly so that the front tires were parked on her front lawn. He'd pay for it later when he had the cash…

The car door almost fell off as he opened it in his rush, the plumber practically falling out of the truck. Huffing and puffing, as if in a hurry, he ran up to Melanie's front door. Before he reached it, the door was opening and—

FAG! There was a fag on the doorstep! What was Melanie thinking letting that thing in her house? Didn't she know that homos were as sneaky as Jewrats and had highly acidic green blood?

"Oh Christ, not you again," Conner groaned.

"How dare you take the Lord's name in vain!" Cartman exclaimed reproachfully while pointing accusingly at the homo.

"Since when were you devout?" Conner asked.

"Since always! I'm the most devout person in town!" Cartman declared. "Now get out of my way, fag. I've got to reorient Ms. Wishcast's sexual orientation and speak to her about the utmost task of heavenly statesmanship. No fags allowed."

"What does she even…? No, never mind," the fag grumbled and slunk away like the homo he was. Yeah, another victory for the heterosexual white man.

"Mmm, why's the door—oh! Hello Eric!"

Interrupted from his internal gloating, Cartman found himself faced with the owner of the house and the woman he saw practically every day for the purpose of taking care of all her plumbing needs.

"Hey. Can I come in?" he asked casually and as nonchalantly as possible. All the while, the thoughts running through his head were _Gotta beat them! Gotta get the Book of Nemesis! Gotta get there first!_

"Sure! Sure you can!" Melanie chirped as she stood to aside to let him in.

Sweet.

If he had been in the frame of mind, he would probably admit that he was a bit pushy as he shoved his way into Melanie's house. He didn't need to be lead anywhere or told where anything was. He had been here enough times that he might as well live here.

Cartman waited impatiently for Melanie to come into her own living room and when she did, the obese plumber turned on the charm as well as the salesman's pitch.

"Ms. Wishcast," he began.

"Melanie," Melanie told him with a small smile on her face. "Call me Melanie."

"Melanie," Cartman corrected himself, not revealing any irritation he felt with her interruption. "I need your help and it's going to be a doozy."

"A doozy? What did you need my help for?" Melanie asked, already lost.

"You're not going to believe this but I swear on everything that is holy, Christian, and Mel Gibson that I'm not making this up," Cartman swore. "But this is going to have to stay between you and me. You can't tell anybody about this, especially not that homosexual fag you have for a neighbor."

"Okay…" Melanie nodded, still a bit lost on where Cartman was trying to go with this.

"I have been recently chosen to aid the side of Heaven in a climatic dimensional battle with Hell. A mission has been given specifically towards me but I find that I am, unfortunately, lacking in resources. You see, I need to break into Hell itself and steal their top secret weapon from them in order so that Heaven can have it and use it against those damned dirty demons. That is why I am here, visiting you right now," Cartman explained. "I need some supplies and tools in order to execute this breaking and entering scheme but I'm low on cash. Too low. I'm going to need to borrow some from you but know this I will pay you back every cent I have. Of this you can trust me."

He had a hand behind his back, fingers crossed.

Melanie blinked at him, not saying anything for a moment. "That's a lot to take it," she said slowly.

"I know but it's all true," Cartman nodded his head solemnly.

"How much?" Melanie asked hesitantly.

"I don't know, a thousand? Ten thousand? Can you truly put a price on ensuring victory for the forces of Heaven?" Cartman answered, trying to sound as casual as possible. He thought he did a pretty good job.

"I don't think that's something I could do…" Melanie said.

"What?" Cartman exclaimed. What was this shit? He came over here practically every day doing all sorts of things to her plumbing, some of which were nothing you would want to do with your pipes, and you would think she would be willing to shell out some cash for him!

"…at least, not without something in return," Melanie finished slyly, her lips curving into a cunning smile.

"What?" Cartman exclaimed. What did she mean by that? What else could she possibly want? He was already telling her he was going to pay her back! Eventually. At a later date. Maybe when it's too late for her to do anything with it.

"You know, I've always admired you," Melanie began, circling around him. Well, that was something he could agree with. He was pretty admirable if he didn't say so himself. "I really think you've been given a raw deal in life. I know for a fact that you're the kind of guy who is going to be going places." You weren't whistling Dixie there, sister. "That's why I would like to become a part of it."

Huh?

Seeing his confusion, Melanie continued, "Weird shit has happened in this town ever since I moved here. So yes, I believe you when you say something's going down between Heaven and Hell and it's most likely going to involve this town. I'm also certain that somehow, someway, you are going to come out on top at some point. And when you do, you'll meet your full potential. I want in on that."

Ah, so she was some kind of leech, trying to get some of his awesome for herself. He couldn't blame her. He was cool and he knew it. Everybody knew it. Like she said, he had been getting a raw deal all this time, most likely some Jew conspiracy anyway.

"What do you want?" Cartman asked point blank, figuring that the subtle approach was no longer necessary.

"Propose to me. Ask me to be your wife," Melanie stated. "We're in this fifty-fifty. Just like a husband and wife would be."

Fifty percent?! That was outrageous! If he was going to do this, he was going to have to sneak a prenup somewhere in there. Er, wait, he was actually considering this?

"But I don't have a ring," he said, voice almost cracking.

"You'll get one, I know you will," Melanie said magnanimously. "I can wait for that but first I want that proposal. Only then will I let you near my cash."

There was that magic word. Cash. Hmm, what to do, what to do…

He couldn't believe he was going to do this.

* * *

Terrifying. Harrowing. Traumatizing. Horrifying. Petrifying. Hellish. Other words that mean the same things as these previous words.

And even those were understating the ride into Hell. Kyle had thought that he was done with that boat driver, former bus driver. He had paid his dues like everyone else. He had placed his sacrifices on that bloody alter some of the guys at school had going ten years ago. He had done his best to avoid being in a five mile radius of the man.

And none of it apparently had paid off.

On the plus side, as he got out of the boat with shaky legs, there was a welcoming committee of sorts.

"Cerberus!" he almost cried out as he latched himself onto the middle head of the mythological beast. Said mythological beast whined in greeting, the head to his right, Marley, pressing itself into Kyle's back while the head to his left, Dip, growled at the disgruntled boat driver.

"You make me sick. It's like you've never ridden in a boat before," the boat driver sneered.

All three heads raised up and snarled at the boat driver, flames blazing out of red eyes. An awful stench coming from the boat driver's vicinity offended everyone's nasal passages.

"You win again, ya three-headed mutt," the boat driver grumbled as he pushed his boat away from the dock, drifting away down the lava River Styx.

"Who's a good boy?" Kyle cooed as he scratched behind the middle head's ear, the other two heads whining at the middle, wanting their ears scratched too.

"Sheet, just give 'im a belly rub while you are at et," Christophe grunted, arms crossed to belay the fact that his knees were knocking against one another, a side effect of the boat ride.

"You can play with Cerberus later Kyle," Damien told him in a much more gentle tone. "We have business with my father. All goes well and you'll be taking him back with you."

"Promise?" Kyle asked, wrapping his arms around the middle head's neck. Due to how large the neck was, Kyle's arms didn't even make it halfway around.

"Would I make promises I couldn't keep?" Damien replied with a question as he pried Kyle away from Cerberus, who whimpered at the loss of its owner.

"Hmm…" Kyle took up a thinking pose, demonstrating just how much faith he had in the Antichrist.

Nearby, Brianna watched the two of them, eyes narrowed.

"This way," Damien commanded as he led the way deeper into Hell. "We'll make those fools catch up with us. Stick close because if you get separated, no one will come looking for you."

Kyle allowed himself to be dragged away from Cerberus, the giant three-headed dog sitting on its haunches and watching him go with three pairs of mournful eyes. He waved goodbye to the beast, just like he did in school and every day he went to work.

The group of mortals entered a long tunnel and with each step they took, the hotter it became. Fire and brimstone indeed, Kyle thought to himself. He could smell the stench of brimstone up ahead. He didn't know how long this tunnel was due to the fact that he didn't remember how he left Hell the last time. One moment he was unconscious and the next he was back in his bed at home and it was practically two weeks until school started up again. Then again, he hardly remembered how he was dragged down here the first time.

"Feast your eyes on the sight of human suffering and eternal damnation," Damien intoned as they left the tunnel, arriving on a precipice high above a sea of moaning, wounded, and of course, damned souls. Huh, they kinda looked like they were still alive other than the fact that they were dead and all. The metallic scent of blood reached Kyle's nose and he scrunched the olfactory orifice.

No matter how many times he found himself surrounded by the stuff, he never got used to it.

Kyle found himself being lurched to a side. Damien was moving again and the Antichrist was holding onto his hand and was not letting go any time soon. Kyle would have been touched but he was back in the middle of Hell again so…yeah, that was a thing.

Feeling eyes on him, Kyle looked over his shoulder and found Craig's wife boring her eyes into him. What was that look for? Was there something on his face? Was she on her period? What?

The path that Damien led them on took them down into that swamp of souls and now Kyle felt the most discomforted. Countless eyes were now on him, pleading and begging though they could have been looking at Damien instead of him. Damien didn't give them the time of day and didn't bother to glance at anyone.

However, someone in their group did and was talking about it.

"I remember her. Five years ago, I got my hands on an old luggage trunk and pulled an Ira Einhorn. I deviated by placing the trunk in the middle of the wilderness but it was the first time that I beat someone to death instead of stabbing them. Too much work," Bain commented.

And they had to bring this freak with them. Really. Why wasn't he surprised that he had killed someone by now?

"Can you keep that to yourself?" Charlie sighed.

"Hard not to where there's one over there who I almost did a Richard Ramirez on but instead did Herman Mudgett," Bain said. "I wonder if I will find H. H. Holmes somewhere around here. America's first serial killer, the Archfiend as they called him."

"A personal hero of yours, I take it," Charlie groused. "As I said, keep it to yourself."

"You truly have little appreciation for art," Bain grumbled.

"I have an appreciation for art so long as it doesn't involve bodily mutilation," Charlie retorted.

Yeah, Kyle was not in the mood to hear about some sicko's fantasies. They were best left in that psychopath's head where they could only harm…other…people. Shit. They fucked up and truly brought a serial killer with them, hadn't they? Hopefully Charlie would keep him on a short leash.

Suddenly, Kyle found himself being jerked away from Damien's side as a hand grabbed his shoulder. Fortunately, Damien didn't let go of his hand so he was immediately glaring at what dared to touch the Jew. Kyle was also wondering who had the balls to do that and…didn't he know this guy from somewhere?

Green eyes of a similar shade as his stared down into him and the grip on his shoulder tightened. Tan skinned swept over a muscled body with the exception of a few spots were broken bones pierced through. And lastly there was a ridiculous peaked hat perched over blond locks of hair.

If you get past how the neck was bent at an odd angle, Kyle could see that this was a very familiar looking person who was grabbing him. For a name, his brain kept drawing up a blank. Huh, he was sure he recognized him…

"I remember you," the soul said. "You're that friend of Stan Marsh's."

Okay, that voice was definitely familiar. A scene in a restroom popped up into his head and oh yeah, now he remembered. Rod. Rod…something. It had something to do with trees, he knew that much.

"Release him," Damien said coldly.

Green met glowing red and Kyle was somewhat relieved when Rod withdrew. Yeah, the last time he had met this asshole, the bastard had tried to rape him in the school restroom. Luckily for him, that's when Damien had come in and saved him. But still, that had been a long time ago…

Damien was dragging him away from the teenaged soul but it seemed like Rod wasn't done harassing their group. "Charlie. Long time no see," the dead teen greeted the former tomboy and present day author.

"Not long enough," Charlie deadpanned.

"And there's another one," Bain commented. "Odd how his libido is still intact. I remember stabbing him in the crouch." And right where the crotch of Rod's leather pants were, there was a large bloodstain.

"Maybe that's your problem. You stabbed, you didn't cut,' Charlie said.

"Still with the shrimp? Babe, you gotta move up in the world," Rod complained.

"At least he still has a pulse, unlike you," Charlie retorted. "I'm gonna have to talk to Satan about getting that toy of yours removed."

"He's the one that put it back," Rod chortled. "Gave him the night of his life, if not his whole life."

Damien froze and Kyle wondered about the odd reaction. And was he muttering, "Don't tell me. He's the one?"

"What the hell won't you tap?" Charlie demanded.

"Anyzing not nailed down," Christophe interrupted and pulled Charlie away from Rod. "Let's go. I am not comfortable 'ere."

At least that was something Kyle could agree with. Shaking Damien's arm, the Jew snapped the Antichrist out of whatever daze he was in and had him leading them again through the mass of souls. Thankfully, there were no more delays or surprises lurking around this time and they got out of it soon enough. Of course, they were then surrounded by demons so whether this was an improvement or not remained to be seen.

"You're back so soon. How did it go?" a demon asked.

"I must speak with my father. No delays," Damien commanded and Kyle watched in awe as the demons scrambled to accommodate their master's son. He hadn't seen this before but then again, he had been closeted up the last time he was here.

After that, everything progressed quickly and Kyle wasn't able to really take in the scenery though there wasn't much to it all. Everything was volcanic and hellish here. It began to repeat itself after a while. Then they were entering a large room/cavern that had a different feel to it than the rest of this place. Kyle thought some of it was familiar but he couldn't be quite sure. Then again, a lot of stuff looked familiar here only because he literally saw it five minutes previous. Was there some kind of repetitive pattern occurring here?

"Father!" Damien's voice boomed, the Antichrist's eyes darting all around for any sign of the red skinned monstrosity. "I'm back!"

There was an explosion of flame not ten feet away and Kyle jumped in surprise. Wow, someone was being quite theatrical. That didn't stop Kyle from shifting closer to Damien, you know, just to be safe. You could never be too sure of anything that happened in this place.

From the flames, an enormous, muscular, demonic being emerged. Goat hooves clacked against the stone that made up the cavern floor, large arms stretched out from a heavily muscled torso, exposing black chest hair that led up to a small black beard that hung from an unseen chin. The devil himself opened his gaping maw up a mouth, revealing small yet sharp teeth…

…and promptly yawned and scratched a red skinned ass that was cloaked by a furry, skull-clasped loincloth.

"Jesus Christ, do you have any idea of what time it is?" Satan demanded/whined. "I was in the middle of my beauty sleep Damien. Couldn't you wait until about noonish?"

"I'm afraid that this is something that cannot wait," Damien said as he kneeled before his father and bowed his head.

"Don't do that bowing before your superior bullcrap," Satan said, motioning for his son to stand back up while glaring at the others, daring them to even thing about bowing. There would be no bowing here!

At least not this early in the morning.

"But it's protocol," Damien began.

"Fuck protocol! Who's in charge here? That's right. Me," the red devil pointed a thumb at himself. "I say what goes and there will be no bowing before my dark might until I've had at least two cups of coffee."

You know, Kyle had thought that this was going to be some big, serious gathering, kinda like what went on in some big, fancy government place but he had forgotten one small detail. Satan. Enough said.

"So what is this all about?" Satan rumbled as he slumped onto his dark throne. "Are you having a slumber party or something? Oh, hey Charlie. How's it hanging?"

"Same old, same old," Charlie shrugged.

"Nice," Satan nodded his head.

"Father, I have to inform you that Heaven is marshaling their forces," Damien cut in, wanting to get this over with.

"Now why would they do a thing like that?" Satan asked.

"According to your intelligence network, they have the understanding that I'm trying to bring about the apocalypse early," Damien said.

"You are?" Satan asked, eyes wide and blinking.

"No! Though I wish I were," Damien denied, his last sentence muttered under his breath.

"So who gave them the idea that you were doing things early?" Satan wondered.

"Beats me but they believe it enough to wake up the Second Coming," Damien said.

"But that's too soon!" Satan declared. "What the hell is going on?"

"Whatever is indeed going on has Heaven recruiting mortals from Earth for their cause," Damien said. "There is also talk, according to your intelligence networks that there may be a push for the Book."

"That old thing?" Satan frowned. Rubbing his temples, he moaned, "It's too early for this shit!"

"It doesn't change the fact that this shit is happening," Damien pointed out helpfully.

"I noticed that you too are recruiting," Satan said, lowering his hand and peering at the mortals behind him. "Is that why you have my new Beelzebub with you?"

"Half of these mortals are here because of your new Beelzebub's whims," Damien growled. "One is here because he's a fan of yours, another is against her will, and Kyle's here for the dog."

"Cerberus?" Satan frowned.

"I gave him to Kyle a decade ago," Damien said slowly. "Kyle told me that you took him back."

"Oh, that's because I need him," Satan answered dismissively.

"What for?" Kyle spoke up.

"That new boatman," Satan said. Then shrinking in on himself, the devil spoke in a quiet voice, "He scares me."

The image of the former bus driver now boatman or boat driver flashed through their minds. Okay, Kyle admitted, he could see where Satan was coming from. But still.

"But Damien gave him to me years ago. He belongs to me now," Kyle said. "I can understand why you feel the need for…protection but this constitutes as theft. Besides, I've grown fond of Cerberus. And Dip. And Marley. I would like him, them, back please."

"You have such manners!" Satan remarked.

When nothing else was forthcoming, Kyle said, "Um, is that it?"

"Are you still on the dog thing?" Satan frowned.

"Just give Kyle back Cerberus," Damien growled in frustration. "Besides, there are more important things to deal with other than your fear of that boat driver."

"What could be more important than making sure that boatman doesn't violate the restraining order I have against him?" Satan wondered.

"Wolf Black for one," Damien stated. Kyle raised an eyebrow at that one; so they were still also trying to resolve that, huh? "He's the one responsible for all the missing souls and because of my aggressions towards him, Heaven is getting up in a row."

"I don't even know who this Wolf Black is but for some reason I can't help but picture dorky suspenders and a bad gelled hairdo," Satan admitted.

"That pretty much sums him up," Charlie shrugged. "So he's the one that's kinda sorta responsible for this whole mess starting? Doesn't look any older than me and he's already causing these kinda of problems."

"He's a retailer. He's bound to cause some kind of problem," Bain told her.

"Okay, you, don't speak. Your voice is creepy," Satan regarded Bain with an unimpressed look. "Damien, honey? How about you go to the archives? You're bound to find something on this Wolf Black there. Just be careful about HAL. He's been malfunctioning again and I don't want to have to go back there."

"That sounds like a plan. So what do we do about Heaven?" Damien asked.

"Well, what do you want to do?" Satan asked in reply, looking at his son expectantly.

"Since there is no way to resolve Wolf Black without Heaven interfering, I suggest we get the army mobilized in case they attack us," Damien explained. "They won't dare attack if they know we'll be ready for them."

"I don't know Damien," Satan said with uncertainty. "It sounds like we might get into an arms race that way and you remember the last one we got involved with."

"Trust me father, Heaven would have to be full of idiots to try something that audacious," Damien reassured. "Who would be willing to take aggressive actions against us?"

* * *

"You know, figuring out how to break into Hell would be a lot easier if Cartman was around," Stan said idly from the barstool he sat on.

"The fact that you want Cartman around must mean you're really desperate," Wendy muttered from a nearby table.

"He does come up with some good ideas every now and then," Kenny shrugged.

"You know where he ran off to?" Alice asked as she fiddled with an empty glass. They were back at the bar and were able to shoo some of the more aggressive drunks out. For some reason, talking about some supernatural espionage and what they were willing to do to get their hands on an almighty book of prophesy seemed more natural in a bar setting. Sure it was way too early in the day to be in such a place but…see the previous sentence.

"Why am I even getting involved with this?" Craig sighed as he swilled a small amount of beer in an almost empty bottle. It was also way too early in the day to be drinking alcohol but they were in a bar so why not?

"You don't have to bring everybody down with your negativity, Craig," Stan accused.

"I swore that after graduation I would live nothing more than a nice and boring life," Craig continued to muse to himself, ignoring everybody else. "Now I'm involved with you people again. Whoop-di-freaking-doo."

"Stop being such a dick Craig and focus," Kenny said as he paced from one side of the bar to another.

"Easy for you to say," Craig muttered as he tilted his head back and drained the rest of his bottle.

"Is it even possible to break into Hell?" Anna, the Russian immigrant and newest volunteer to participate in the insanity that was living in South Park, asked.

"Shouldn't be that hard," Stan mused, fist under his chin and elbow propped up on the bar. "We've gotten into places before that you shouldn't be able to get into."

"Maybe we can use Cthulhu to send us there?" Clyde suggested. "He sent us to that weird alternate dimension once."

"Out of the question," Kenny snapped.

"Sorry," Clyde raised his hands up in mock surrender. "No need to taze me, bro."

"Hey," Stan called out to the only black man within proximity. "You got anything to add?"

Nathan just shrugged but said nothing, staring out into space. He had been awfully quiet ever since they had left Heaven.

"You know, it would be so much easier if it was Hell that came to us," Bebe sighed. "All this thinking and plotting is making my head hurt."

"What did you say?" Kenny asked, giving her a queer look.

"I said all this thinking is giving me a headache," Bebe answered.

"Before that," Kenny pressed.

"I think she said something about having Hell come to us," Wendy piped up.

"That's…not a bad idea," Kenny remarked.

"It isn't?" Bebe asked, looking up with surprise.

"It's better than killing someone and hoping they can find the Book of Nemesis down there," Kenny replied. "Plus, death is kinda permanent for you guys. Not worth the risk."

"What does that mean?" Wendy asked, frowning at him.

"Not really anything," Kenny shrugged. "So how do we get Hell to come to us or more specifically, how do we get Hell to bring the Book of Nemesis to us?"

"Take something that belongs to them and hold it hostage?" Anna suggested.

"And what do we take hostage?" Alice asked.

"Well, it has to be from someone we know who can come and go from Hell," Kenny said thoughtfully.

"Why not have Damien do it?" Craig grumbled.

"Now you're getting it," Stan praised.

"Unfortunately," Craig muttered.

"So what can we take from Damien that he values so much that he would agree to do such a trade?" Kenny posed the next question, getting them back on track. No one answered, unable to come up with much of anything.

Then, "How about we kidnap Kyle?" Clyde asked.

Clyde received more than one look for saying that.

"What?" Clyde looked at them all, not liking the looks he was getting.

"Who are you? Cartman?" Stan demanded from his seat. "We can't just kidnap Kyle!"

"Even though Damien's so fixated on him that he gave him that three-headed dog from the underworld as a gift," Kenny said thoughtfully. "Maybe…maybe Clyde's idea has some merit."

"Kenny!" Stan exclaimed.

"You are not seriously considering committing a criminal offense, are you?" Wendy demanded, aghast. "This is a felony you're talking about!"

"Not as long as we make Kyle think it's something else," Alice said. Anna was looking at the model with a hopeful look.

"We just have to make Damien think we've taken him hostage," Kenny said. "If Damien's as obsessed as I think he is, there's no doubt in my mind he'd trade the Book for Kyle."

"Oh, but are you forgetting? What if he tries to backstab us and bring a legion of demons to slaughter our asses," Craig pointed out, staring at his empty beer bottle. He was going to have to get his hands on another one…

"I don't think it will come to that," Kenny said, smacking Craig on his back. "What could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

Sacrifices had to be made if you were to achieve greatness. Cartman knew that more than anybody.

But at least he now had some cash, someone else's cash to be more specific, to spend on achieving the greatness that he knew he deserved. Even if he had to get himself a human ball and chain, i.e. a wife, it was a small price to pay. He could divorce her later before the good stuff started. But he would have to tap that ass at least once. You know, get as much mileage as he could.

Now that he was financially armed, he had to get his tools for this upcoming job. What better place could he get reliable tools and at a cheap price? The Black Market of course! He did half his shopping there…even if he had to sing that Goddamn Jew song just to get in.

He was going to have to suck it up and take one for the team. Team Cartman that is. Sacrifice was practically a requirement for greatness after all.

It was easy for him to find an entrance to Black Market; he knew of the many entrances that all seemed to go to the same place for some reason. It just made it more convenient, that's all. He spotted the metal door that was somewhat hidden from view but if you knew what to look for…

Anyway, he steeled his nerves and vocal cords, knowing what he had to do. Why did he have to sing that song out of the million others? Did Wolf Black not like him or something? He was a likeable person! It was impossible to not like someone as cool as him. So what other reason could there be?

Raising a fist, he knocked on the metal door and waited for the slot to open and demand a password.

For a full minute, nothing happened.

Now this was unusual. Whoever usually answered the door was always prompt. What the hell was this shit about?

Knowing that it was a waste of time, Cartman grabbed the door handle and tried to turn it. It was always locked and could only be opened from the other side so Cartman didn't know why he tried.

Except that the door handle turned this time and the door opened without a squeak from its hinges. Huh, well that was new.

Shrugging at his good fortune to not have to sing that password of his, he peeked into Black Market, making sure there was someone in there that could service him. He heard the voices first before he saw anyone. Frowning, Cartman crept passed the door, leaving it slightly open as he snuck further into Black Market. The further he went in, the clearer the voices became and he winced as a high pitched voice rose into a crescendo.

"Do not take me for a fool. I knew there was something off about you the last time we met and thanks to my father's database, I know who you are."

Crouching low so as to make it harder for him to be spotted, Cartman peaked around a shelf, eyes widening when he recognized the mayor. Damn demonic asshole. That should have been _his_ job! Sneaky Jewrats and unholy spawns of Satan…

"You should already know, I'm a businessman," Wolf said dismissively as he fired back at the Antichrist. Cartman watched as the animated Wolf leaned himself against the cashier's counter, elbows perched on top of the flat surface. From a doorway several feet away, the black employee that Wolf kept around watched the Antichrist, a hand tucked against his side.

"That's just your cover," Damien retorted as he stalked around Wolf. "Even now I can smell the stench off you."

"I put on too much cologne this morning. Big deal," Wolf shrugged. "Are you going to buy something or what?"

"Playing dumb is not your specialty," Damien said.

What was going on? Why was that Satanic asshole here and why was he harassing the only person in town whose prices Cartman could afford? Still, he wasn't stupid enough to give himself away just yet. Damien was the enemy here and whatever advantage Cartman could get against him would improve his chances.

"Whoever said I was playing dumb?" Wolf challenged. "I've taken a lot of abuse from you lately and I can't say I'm enjoying it. If you aren't going to be buying something, I'm going to have to ask Jay over there to forcefully escort you out. I have to warn you, he's been jumpy lately. He might just do something you'll regret, if you know what I mean."

"There is no cologne in the world that will make you smell like my father," Damien retorted. "I would know. I live with him. Also, do you think it's coincidence that you first surfaced around the time my father was going through a phase of his?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Wolf said sharply. Cartman immediately recognized the sound of defensiveness. Not that he ever sounded defensive, mind you. Oh no. Never.

"Sure you do. It explains why you are able to buy souls and keep them. After all, it was my father's pregnant teen phase he was going through and he happened to get quite a few _abortions_ done during that time," Damien smirked darkly.

"La la la la!" Wolf sang, sticking his fingers in his ears the moment the Antichrist had spoken the A word. Cartman found himself blinking dumbly at Wolf's childish antics. What the fuck?

"So, you can't accept the truth, even after all this time?" Damien's smirk widened.

'I'm not listening! I can't hear you!" Wolf caroled

"It must be hard for you," Damien continued maliciously. "Then again, I wouldn't know what it's like to be what you are. You are nothing more than an aborted Satanic fetus."

Again there was another chant of "la la la la!" but Cartman felt his jaw fall open. An aborted…Satanic…fetus? What the hell was that? There was a thump from Jay's general area and the black man had the same look on his face as Cartman did only he was staring at Wolf without shame.

"Denial doesn't suit you, fetus. Get over yourself," Damien jested.

"You think you're better than me just because you were born?" Wolf hissed. "I've accomplished more in a decade than you have in your entire life span!"

"I've been around a couple centuries. I would think I would have more notches on my belt that you do," Damien retorted. "Word of advice, if you ever want to get involved in a cock fight, make sure you have the bigger cock. So far, I'm unimpressed with yours to the point I'm feeling secure."

"I am not small," Wolf muttered though it sounded more like a pout than anything. Cartman also knew that tone of voice…not that he had ever sounded like that, no sirree!

"Oh but you are. In more ways than one," Damien leaned in close. "Do not for a second think that I've forgotten about you and what you're doing. At the moment, there are bigger fish the fry. You'll get what's coming to you. Consider that a promise."

A flare of flames enveloped the Antichrist and he was gone, leaving a fuming Wolf behind.

"That _bastard_," Wolf hissed, hands balled tightly into fists.

"You mean…you're not human but a fetus?" Jay asked incredulously. "And you've already been aborted?"

"La la la la!"

God, could this guy get anymore pathetic?

But…what was that bit about buying souls? What did that asshole Damien mean by that?

"How are things going with those souls?" Wolf demanded, breaking Cartman out of his musings.

"Slow but they're improving," Jay answered, crossing his arms over his chest. "So. Was that a part of your big plan?"

"Shut up!" Wolf barked over the sound of fluttering wings.

Wait…wings? What?

Cartman wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it. As if fading into existence from the light emitted from the light fixtures, an angel appeared. Cartman didn't recognize him though; so far the only angel he had actually seen was Gabriel and maybe St. Peter if that demented asshole counted. But who was this angel and why was he here? Did he come for the cheap prices?

"Ah…" Wolf paused as he raised an arm up slightly, his sleeve slipping down unobtrusively, "…Ongkanon! How goes the misinformation campaign?"

"Michael and the rest have fallen for it hook, line, and sinker," Ongkanon reported. "It's hilarious to think that the Antichrist would be allowed to start the Apocalypse early."

"Indeed. At least things are going according to plan on your end," Wolf said. "For the moment, we should hold back and let Heaven and Hell war it out. Weaken themselves. Distract one another."

"And make it easier for you," Ong…carrot nodded.

"Make it easier for us…how?" Jay asked.

"Oops. Sorry, didn't mention this part to you," Wolf shrugged, not looking in the least bit repentant.

"Well?" Jay raised an eyebrow, prompting the businessman to continue.

"Well what? Oh, right," Wolf settled himself against the cashier counter in a more comfortable position, elbows resting against the flat surface once again. "It's not going to be simple to let Heaven and Hell weaken one another so that we can take advantage of their weakened state and pwn both sides. We're going to need an edge. Speaking of said edge…" Wolf glanced down to his arm where something was written on the limb, "…Ongkanon. How goes that front?"

"Michael has informed the mortals that the Second Coming brought with him to the Heavenly City about the Book," Ongkanon said. Cartman perked up. Were they talking about _that_ book? The one Kenny, Stan, and those other undeserving assholes were talking about earlier? "They have been charged to break into Hell and steal the Book of Nemesis."

Yep, they were talking about _that_ Book.

"And once again, they're helping me out," Wolf chuckled. Glancing at Jay, "We're really going to start putting your combat experience to good use. I want you to keep an eye on them. Once they get their hands on the Book of Nemesis and return to Earth, you're going to have to…borrow it from them."

"But what about the training?" Jay frowned.

"Take some with you, whatever," Wolf said dismissively. "I don't care how you get the Book, just do so and then we can rewrite the future." Wolf smirked evilly and Cartman swore that he could see Wolf's eyes brighten with a reddish hue.

Oh. My. God.

This…this was just like James Bond! A third party manipulating two sides so as to better take them over! And no one was the wiser! Except for him. Eric Cartman. Who was going to be James Bond in this situation.

Okay, that was enough. Time to get out of here without them knowing he was there the whole time.

It didn't slip Cartman's mind that a whole new opportunity to prove himself better than the assholes that thought themselves better than him had plopped itself in his lap.

* * *

Author's Note: Other than **ShadowMajin**, who saw this coming? Wolf is more than he seems but I've been building up to this since _Malicious Motives_. Wolf's secret is out of the closet but do you necessarily know everything yet? Don't count on it.


	14. Schemers Scheming Their Schemes

Author's Note: Not too much to say about this chapter but I do believe that we're about halfway through. Maybe? Not sure, to be honest. But we'll find out on the day I label this story with a COMPLETE on it. Got one more twist for you guys, one last pawn to add to the board and then we'll be set for the battle between Heaven and Hell to commence. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Schemers Scheming Their Schemes

Bonnie hadn't expected to feel tired after she had died. Just…who would expect that you could feel tired? You didn't have a body, no blood or muscle or tissue or anything else that could be overworked. But, she was a disembodied soul right now so there were probably things in this state of being that she didn't know about.

After days, or who knows how much time she had been here, of being stuck in this place and being ignored by Wolf, unexpectedly the man changes his tune. Now he was having that black guy Jay train them for some reason. Formations, "yes drill sergeant!", physical…well you get the idea workouts, other stuff you would expect from a boot camp. Just what was the point of all of this?

For once, Krisa wasn't being rebellious. Probably too tired to be rebellious. Pip on the other hand looked like he was having the time of his life.

"This is all so exciting! I really think I'm getting the hang of all this! I wonder what we're going to be doing next!"

Maybe a bit too excited. Bonnie wasn't in the mood to give him the benefit of the doubt even though he had been stuck here for years with nothing to do or entertain himself. Despite her exhaustion, if you could call it that, she still felt irritated by the peppiness.

Death was really doing a number on who she was as a person. She could recall a time she was much more patient and willing to hear somebody jabber on aimlessly. Of course, that could just be this "exhaustion" talking here.

The door to their prison opened and surprise, surprise, there was Jay. Here to torture them some more?

"I need three volunteers," the black man with the fro-hawk stated coldly. Dark eyes fell over her and Bonnie couldn't help a shiver go down her non-existent spine. "You three—"

"Oh Jolly Good! I've been chosen—"

"Never mind. You two. The kid stays," Jay interrupted the interrupting Pip.

"Aw shucks."

Bonnie almost felt sorry for him. Almost

"What the fuck is all this about?" Krisa scowled at the black man.

With a stride that only a person in the military could accomplish, Jay was in Krisa's face in an instance and his hand was somehow gripping the front of the t-shirt that Krisa had died in and lifted her so that their faces were level. "You do not get to ask questions. You follow orders. Cop an attitude with me and let me remind you that Wolf has given me free reign with you. I could do whatever the fuck I wanted with your ghostly ass and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me. You and your friend on the floor here are going to come with me on a…an outing. So shut your fucking mouth and follow me."

Jay dropped Krisa back onto the floor and spun on his heel, heading back to the only exit in this place. Bonnie didn't know if she should be surprised when she found some force dragging her after the man and she didn't have to look to know the same thing was happening with Krisa.

For the first time since she arrived here, she was leaving this Godforsaken room. However, though she had the urge to run, she found that she couldn't. She was somehow…bound to Jay. Wherever he went, she would have to follow.

Jay led them out back where a motorcycle sat, parked. It took Bonnie a moment to recognize the Suzuki logo on it and the only reason she remembered that was because the last commercial she had seen before she had left for the bus station had been a Suzuki commercial. The motorized contraption looked polished, as if it were brand new, and it was obvious Jay was fond of it as he slid his hand against it, a fond smile curving his lips.

"We are out on recon," Jay announced as he swiped up a helmet and placed it over his head, his face now obscured by the dark visor. "You will do nothing until I say you can. Keep up with me; I go fast and I'm not stopping for anything."

The motorcycle's engine flared up, growling smoothly to life. The sensation of dragging appeared again as Jay took off, weaving through the back alleys of South Park and out onto one of the main streets.

He wasn't kidding when he said he was fast.

* * *

Attempting to be proactive, the group of would-be kidnappers decided to get their misdeed over and done with as soon as possible so that they wouldn't convince themselves not to go through with it.

The plan was relatively simple. Stan would lure Kyle away from City Hall with the promise of lunch and catching up and afterwards take him to Stan's parents' house. If he couldn't do that, which Stan assured was not going to happen, the rest of them would just go in and carry him away like some kind of living idol.

In no way would it look suspicious.

They took three cars. One would have Stan alone to give credit to Plan A while the other two would have everyone else. As they were leaving Skeeter's, Stan took note of all who was here. Craig was grumbling about getting back home to check on his wife, Clyde was just there, all girls from the two models, the reporter, the immigrant, the lawyer and Kyra were accounted for, Stan paying more attention to Kyra than the others, Kenny looked unusually serious…

Someone was missing. Cartman? He had been missing for some time already and no one had cared so far…oh wait, now he knew!

"Anybody see Nathan?" he called out to the others.

Everyone looked around and shrugged helplessly in response. "When'd he leave?" Wendy wondered. "Did anybody see?"

"Beats me," Brittany shrugged, sliding into the vehicle Kenny was closest to.

"We'll look for him later," Kenny decided for them. "Let's just get this shit over with. "I'm already getting a bad taste in my mouth."

Stan winced, agreeing with Kenny on that. Regardless of the passage of time and all that had come between them, Kyle was still his best friend. His super best friend, he felt he had to mention. Yes, he hadn't kept in contact with him and maybe that was his fault but he was going to make up for it. If anything, kidnapping Kyle would remove him from everything happening between Damien and Heaven and so in some roundabout way, he was protecting him.

Yeah.

He had to use his car to keep up the ruse and he exhaled through his mouth loudly, lips flopping against one another. He heard the buzzing sound of a motorcycle pass by as he turned the key in the ignition and starting up the vehicle. A soft purr was his answer and he stroked the dashboard fondly.

A benefit of having a buttload of cash, baby. He lived in a fast paced world and…you already got that by now, didn't you? Too bad living in a fast paced world excluded Kyra… Glancing at the rearview mirror and spying the car that he had last seen her get in, Stan put his car into drive and led the way to City Hall.

Upon arrival, he had to admit the place looked a bit more ominous. Damien was the mayor now, wasn't he? His evilness must be infusing itself in the very cement of this place. And Kyle willingly worked here? So much had changed in ten years, hadn't it?

Putting the gear into park, Stan shut off the engine and got out, adjusting his outfit as he slammed the driver side door shut. Waving at a young-looking cop who was driving pass, Stan headed for the entrance of City Hall. He scrunched his nose as he entered, spying how the interior was in the middle of renovation. You know, that statue that stood in the center of it all looked like Officer Barbrady in a Batman outfit. Huh, they even had the sunglasses over the eyes.

Whatever, not his problem, though they could have done something with all these Mexican laborers who were milling around the place…they were the construction crew weren't they? The more things change, the more they stayed the same.

Figuring that it would be best to keep to himself and not ask where Kyle's office was, he headed up to the second floor where he knew the mayor's office was located. Now that he thought about it, he could have asked that Anna gal, couldn't he? He wasn't completely blind, you know. He knew that whenever Kyle's name was brought up, that Russian immigrant's eyes would light up. She obviously didn't know that Kyle was already in a relationship.

Well, if everything went perfectly like they did in most fanfiction, Anna just might get her man.

In comparison with the lobby, the second floor was much nicer, cleaner too. In fact, it looked just the same as he had last seen it and let him tell you, in his day he had seen a lot of this place to last a lifetime. Now, if he recalled correctly, didn't the old mayor's aide have an office that was…yeah, down this hallway. What were the odds that Kyle was using it now? Knowing Kyle, his Jewish friend was one for traditions.

Right?

Shaking his head, Stan found that his guess had been correct. There was the mayor's aide's office and it had Kyle's name written all over it. Odd how it had a thick piece of duct tape on it. Wonder what was underneath it…

Stan took the time the scrap at one of the corners and ultimately peel the tape off.

Then he put the piece of tape back over the space it had once covered.

Well no wonder it was there. If it hadn't been there, then the words _Mayor's Fuck Toy_ underneath Kyle's name would be visible to just anyone walking by. Funny how those words had been there on that same door when the previous mayor's aide had been there. Sounds like Damien was also a stickler for tradition.

Rapping on the door, Stan waited for an answer but was disappointed when he heard nothing. Trying the doorknob, he was a bit surprised that the door was locked. Hmm, what was strange about this? It was on the tip of his tongue but Stan couldn't quite put his finger on it. Feeling a need for some kind of action, Stan turned away from Kyle's office and headed for the mayor's. Kyle had to be in there, right? Hopefully he wasn't being molested or engaging in some naughty secretary roleplay.

For some disturbing reason, an image popped up in Stan's head, one of that naughty secretary roleplay with the exception that the primary actors in it were him and Kyra. Aww, now he was getting excited…

Adjusting his stride to accommodate for his…growing problem, he made it to Damien's office in no time. He could feel heat pooling down there and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to look casual so as not to give himself away. He needed to think about something unsexy, something that would kill a libido in one go.

Cartman's tubby tits.

Okay, it was gone. Whew, almost took a bullet there. Now he was ready. Smoothing down his shirt, he reached for the door handle, forgetting about manners and not knocking as he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Three pairs of eyes greeted him and none of them were human. Or Kyle. None of them belonged to Kyle. Stan couldn't help but fall into the impromptu staring contest but then again, other than running and screaming, what else could you do when you find yourself opening up a door and awkwardly finding three demons?

"You know, I told you we needed to get some human disguises," one of the demons said accusingly to one that was sitting behind the mayor's desk.

Stan closed the door, hand still on the handle as he exhaled loudly. Then, without another word he dashed off for his life, hoping that those demons wouldn't be fast enough to catch him if they gave chase. Before he knew it, he was outside of City Hall and none of the demons had caught him. Either they weren't fast enough to catch him or hadn't bothered to give chase in the first place.

For some reason, he was leaning towards the latter.

Seeing him practically running for his life out of the building, Kenny got out of the car he had ridden in and called out to him, "What happened? Where's Kyle?"

"Demons! In the office!" Stan panted as he skidded to a stop in front of the blond. "Need to get out of here. Before they come out and catch me!"

"Was Kyle there?" Kenny demanded as he held his shoulders.

"No. Didn't see him," Stan gasped anxiously, looking over his shoulder at City Hall and fully expected some kind of monster to burst out. No such thing happened but that didn't mean that it wouldn't.

"Damien must have moved him already," Kenny muttered. "Okay, let's go. We'll go to my garage and regroup."

Stan nodded and rushed to his car, wanting to get as far away from here as possible.

* * *

Watching from across the street, Jay whistled, impressed at Stan's speed. Hadn't seen a white boy run that fast since Obama won reelection.

"So we're just watching them?" Krisa asked, unseen by any passerby. "Why?"

"None of your business," Jay retorted, not taking his eyes off his targets as they began driving away, the car that Stan had gotten into already skidding around the corner like a maniac.

Beside him, the soul known as Bonnie looked on longingly. Odd how she gotten that look when that blond, Kenny he thought his name was, had appeared. None of his business if she knew him or was attracted to him. She was dead; it wouldn't go any further than one-sided.

Revving the engine, Jay followed in pursuit, making sure not to get too close and expose himself.

* * *

The call had finally come in. Melanie was engaged. Conner had always half-suspected that this day would never come but it had. Melanie was so ecstatic and Conner didn't have the heart to burst her bubble, even if he was able to. When he heard just who the groom would be, he swore he felt his stomach fill with dread.

So he was going to be making a dress for the bride of Eric Cartman, that fucking fat, homophobic, waste of space, foul mouth, son of a bitch plumber that always harassed him. What was it with this world and putting decent folk like himself into contact with such pieces of shit that called themselves people?

Well, his word was his bond and he had given his word to Melanie that he would make her wedding dress. All he had to tell himself that he was doing this for her and not that fat piece of shit.

In his stressed out state, he wondered where Dillan was. He hadn't seen his housemate in some time, now that he thought about it. Had he been too bossy recently? Was Dillan avoiding him? That would be great, he thought to himself sardonically.

Shaking his head, he had to get back to business and Melanie. Something to take his mind off his missing housemate who happened to look fantastic in a thong and nothing else.

"So which do you prefer?" he asked as he presented his neighbor with a catalogue of various wedding dress designs and materials. "Would you like a lace pattern or mesh? Goes without saying that it's going to be white unless you want to do something that's out of this world…"

"I'm liking the lace," Melanie answered, eyes going over the main selections.

"Any patterns?" Conner asked.

"Patterns? Do they matter?" Melanie asked, looking up to him curiously.

"Well, this is going to be _your_ dress," Conner answered. "You're the one who will be wearing it. You can customize it to your liking based on your personality or some symbolism that makes sense to you. In fact, a wedding dress is one big symbol by itself. It's white to symbolize purity but there are various shades that are popular right now that you can choose. Eggshell, ivory, ecru are some popular ones. It can be sleeveless and/or strapless but that's to make it easy to fix if there is something not right with it. Or you could go with the traditional model that's based off Queen Victoria's, the one that made a white dress popular for weddings you know. The dress is also a symbol of death and rebirth, death of singlehood and rebirth of partnership. It's letting go of the single maiden and bringing forth the maturity of a committed partnership."

"That is so beautiful," Melanie sniffed, touched.

"We're only getting started," Conner said, placing his hand on Melanie's and squeezing it softly. "We're haven't gotten to the veil yet or whether or not you want a train. There's so much to do but I'm here to make it a fun experience. So take your time and pick something out that fits you."

He shared a smile with her, Melanie's face positively glowing. You know, if he were straight, he could see himself being something more with her but he was happy as he already was, bastard plumbers notwithstanding, and so was satisfied with the friendship he had with her.

The moment came to a screeching halt thanks to the screeching of tires being braked too harshly outside. Something sounded like it was hit and the pair shared a look with one another before heading towards the window. Outside, Conner groaned as he spotted the truck, Cartman had run into Melanie's mailbox in his haste to reach her home. Idly, he recalled that that was some kind of felony, running someone's mailbox over…

"Something's wrong…I think," Melanie said as she strode towards the door.

Only now did it occur to Conner that Melanie was going to be leaving his house and not hers. That bigot was about to have a field day bashing him soon enough. He was…he was just going to wait here and hopefully ride out the storm.

"Melanie! Melanie!" Cartman roared as he banged on her front door, ignorant to his fiancée's true whereabouts. "God damn it, where the hell are you?"

"Eric?" Melanie called out from the front porch, Conner already wincing from the bashing he was going to be getting. "What's wrong?"

"Melanie? What the fuck are you doing at that fag's house? Oh my God, he's trying to corrupt you, that piece of shit!"

"What? No, we're just talking wedding dresses!" Melanie protested. "Eric? What's wrong? You look…upset."

"I might have to bring you back on the right track the only way I know how!" Cartman exclaimed as he marched up to her and gripped the sides of Melanie's shoulders. "There's only one way to cure a woman from a gay man's taint. Sexual. Intercourse. I'd like you to know that I'm hung like a horse, no matter what Kyle says to the contrary."

"Aren't we moving a bit fast?" Melanie's voice cracked. "That would be premarital…"

"But that's all the rage among young people these days," Cartman complained. "How else do you propose to get the homosexual stain off you? Pray it away? Everyone knows that's bullshit anyway. Come on, everybody's doing it!"

But not with you, Conner thought to himself.

"Why'd you run over my mailbox?" Melanie asked, blatantly changing the topic. Only a moron would—

"That's right, it's an emergency," Cartman said. "I found out something big when I went to Black Market. It turns out the asshole who owns the place is setting both Heaven and Hell up, kinda like in the old James Bond movies. Both sides are going to fight each other, most likely kill one another, and then he's going to come and take over everything when they're weak! Oh, and get this. Wolf Black is not human. He's an aborted Satanic fetus. Weird, right?"

"O…kay…" Melanie said slowly. Even Conner was blinking dumbly from where he was hidden. Then again, he was completely out of the loop and this was the first he had heard of anything like this. Heaven? Hell? Aborted Satanic fetuses? What crazy thing was happening in this town this time?

"Quick, I need to find something that can kill aborted spawns of Satan," Cartman shook Melanie. "If I take this creep out, I'll be a hero and everyone will be kissing my feet and everything. I might even become an angel! So think! Think hard Melanie! How do I kill an aborted fetus?"

"Abort it again?" Melanie suggested shakily.

"No, that won't work, Wolf's already been aborted!" Cartman shot the idea down.

"Why don't you go to the church? Maybe they have stuff there?" Melanie said.

"Genius! I knew it was a good idea to come to you!" Cartman exclaimed. Giving her a big smooch on the lips, he hurried back to his badly parked truck. "Fame and fortune, here I come!" he crowed as he backed out into the street, almost hitting a parked car, and then gunning it down the street.

Conner cocked his head to a side. Huh.

* * *

There was something about being surrounded by all the whiteness in Heaven and then seeing archaic weapons like swords and shields being carried around like it was something done every day. Gary couldn't help but feel such weapons even existing in a place like this was soiling.

"Oh, this isn't the first war we've had with Hell," Michael had said nonchalantly. "We keep the forges nice and hot, always ready for the next one. You get used to it."

Gary wasn't sure he wanted to get used to it.

So, in an attempt to try and distance himself from the medieval weaponry, he took to wandering the halls of the Heavenly City. He found a few groups of Mormons here and there and always took the time to spend time with them because somehow they made _sense_ here.

Maybe it was because they were Mormon?

Anyway, today he found himself in a new part of the city. The Prophets' Division as it was called. Apparently, when not at the Hall of Justice down on Earth, the Super Best Friends were engaged with bureaucratic duties that came along with being prophets and messiahs. He never thought he'd find bureaucracy in a place like this but by now Gary was starting to get used to finding such earthly concepts in a heavenly place like this.

Deciding not to interfere with whatever they were doing at the moment, Gary turned to leave, choosing a random corridor to go down and explore. However he didn't get far as a hand settled itself on his shoulder and spun him around.

Gary was speechless but then again who wouldn't be if you were devout and came face to face with Jesus Christ, your Lord and Savior?

Jesus, though, didn't look very welcoming. His eyes were narrowed and he was peering at the Mormon as if he was studying him. Gary shifted uncomfortably, wondering what was going through his Savior's head.

"You…" Jesus began, "…you're my replacement, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," Gary said honestly. "Replacement?"

"Yes, _my_ replacement," Jesus stated, voice stern. "You're the Second Coming, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, Jesus, sir," Gary answered.

"You're the guy they replaced me with?" Jesus said incredulously. "What the hell?"

"You don't sound very happy about that," Gary felt the need to say.

"Of course not!" Jesus exclaimed. "I have my own TV show! I'm part of the Super Best Friends! I have a whole religion dedicated to me! Why the hell did they see fit to replace me with some nobody!"

"Maybe it's because you were caught taking HGH?" a voice from the Prophet's Division suggested.

"I totally got over that!" Jesus yelled back.

"So you mean…it's true? You did take performance enhancing substances?" Gary asked, this time being the one incredulous.

"Does it matter? Look, look at all the good things I did. Why should it matter?" Jesus tried to excuse him himself and alleged past misdeeds. "It doesn't mean that they have to go out and find someone else to be the Second Coming. I would make a great Second Coming if they would give me the chance!"

"Well I think it's great that they are diversifying the prophets we have," a new voice inserted. Gary looked over the Messiah's shoulder and found a blond-haired man in what looked like clothes from the 1800s. Gary knew that face, he had seen it before in pictures…it was Joseph Smith! The founder of the Mormon religion! Wow!

"Of course you would think that, Joseph," Jesus spat out scornfully. "It's not like we have enough Mormons running about. What's one more?"

"Mad that my people got it right when yours got it so very wrong?" Joseph Smith said teasingly.

"Shut up!" Jesus grumbled.

Gary was in too much awe to say anything. This was like a dream come true, you know, to see two very important figures in his life whom he would not have met without heavenly intervention. What could he say to that?

"Come on, give the kid some space," Joseph Smith said as he pried Jesus' hand off him, not that Gary minded that it was there in the first place.

"Oh yeah, sure, be the good guy why don't you?" Jesus complained.

"Look Jesus, we all can't throw hissy fits just because we all live in the shadow of a great man and can't get out from under it," Joseph Smith said patiently as he smooth the wrinkles on Gary's shirt. "We're all in the same boat here but that doesn't mean we get to be dicks and throw tantrums about it."

"That's easy for you to say, he's not your brother," Jesus retorted petulantly.

"Who are you talking about?" Gary asked. "Is it…God?"

"No, no, Chuck Norris," Joseph Smith corrected him. "Did you know that Chuck Norris is ten feet tall, weighs ten tons, breathes fire, and can eat a hammer and take a shotgun blast standing?"

"No…I had not heard that one," Gary said slowly, blinking dumbly.

"I actually saw it," Joseph Smith continued conversationally. "It was incredible. Say, Jesus? Do you know where he is?"

"Where do you think?" Jesus spat. "He decided to deal with those rumors."

"What rumors?" Gary asked.

"Oh, that only pirates could beat Chuck Norris," Joseph Smith answered. "Turns out, that rumor was spread around by Chuck Norris so he could kick some pirate…butt. Right now he should be on a pirate world kicking pirate…butt."

"So no help from him in taking on Hell?" Gary asked.

"Chuck Norris always shows up when he's needed," Joseph Smith said wisely. "I only assume that he's not needed right now. Whether that's true or not, I don't know and I'm not willing to stake my life on it."

"Why don't you bend over and let him have his way with you already," Jesus said scornfully. "He wasn't the one who was nailed to a crucifix and left to linger for three days!"

"We all know the unfortunate truth that if the Bible was published under its real name, it would be _Chuck and Friends_," Joseph Smith sighed. Glancing at Gary, he added, "He did all those things first but let his little brother get all the credit. Those Romans didn't know what hit them."

Yeah, Gary was starting to get uncomfortable with all this Chuck Norris worship so he decided to excuse himself. Maybe he could find something to do elsewhere where there wasn't a pouting Jesus arguing with Joseph Smith, the founder of the Mormon religion.

Putting some distance between the messiah and the prophet, Gary sighed a breath of relief. The tension back there had been…just wow. And the fact that Jesus and Joseph Smith had behaved like regular people…that just blew his mind. He had always assumed them to be enlightened folk, the kind that seemed to be on another plane of existence than most common folk.

"There you are! Michael's been looking for you," the archangel Gabriel seemed to pop out of nowhere. He probably didn't and Gary had been too inattentive to his surroundings but still it didn't lessen the shock of the archangel's sudden appearance.

"Oh, Gabriel. Didn't see you there," Gary said. "Michael's looking for me? Why?"

"He needs your presence immediately," Gabriel informed him. "We're going to try and reach out to Hell. You know. Parlay. Try and convince them to give up this farce and at least avoid the bloodshed. It hasn't worked yet but we figured why not? Besides, we might intimidate them into giving up by showing off who we have on our side."

"So we're playing a game of chicken, the result being war if no one blinks?" Gary summed up.

"Pretty much," Gabriel agreed. "I sure do hope you've been getting in touch with your Jesus powers because that'll go a long way in intimidating whatever representative Hell sends."

"I hope so too," Gary said as he gestured for Gabriel to lead the way.

* * *

Military tactics. Army maneuvers. Supernatural resources. How sharp a sword was needed to cleave through an angelic bastard trying to decapitate you. These were matters that Bain had little interest in. Yet here he was listening in on all that while keeping to himself, posing as a wallflower if you could call it that.

He was more the hunter type, stalking his prey and dragging them back to his lair where he would go to work on them. Open confrontation with an entire army backing you up was not his style. Of course he didn't voice this since Satan had ordered him not to speak.

He wasn't about to aggravate the ruler of this unholy kingdom, especially when he was standing in the middle of it.

Let the Prince of Darkness or whatever titles he actually had discuss strategy with his demonic generals and son. Bain would keep out of the way and observe them. It was what he usually did when bored, watch people that is. You would be surprised what people would do when they didn't realize you were watching them and how they left their guards down…

He'll be honest and say that he wasn't paying all that much attention to the demons in the throne room. No, he was watching the humans, or at least the ones with humanoid form. He could read their body language better when they had a similar physically-resembling build to him. So far, the most intriguing person he had watched, outside of the challenging Charlotte, happened to be the only other definite female in here. Who she was, he didn't really know but he had picked up the name Brianna at some point.

He knew of a Brianna from high school, yes, but this wasn't her. Didn't look a bit like her either. Who'd be dumb enough to confuse the two?

He was vaguely curious at the way this Brianna who was not the one he knew of from high school would stare at Damien of all people and he wondered. There was longing in her eyes and he thought that maybe she was attracted to the Antichrist. Was it his looks or his authority, Bain did not know yet. He was not blind to the scathing looks she threw at Mr. Broflovski, though, and he thought it was stupid that neither of his former peers had noticed.

They were either oblivious or stupid. Well, it wouldn't be his fault if it came back to bite them in the asses.

Other than her, there was the only Satanist in the group who looked like he was having a field day. Dillan Teigs, Bain thought his name was. Never interacted with him but he almost recalled seeing him around school when he was younger. Couldn't say that absolutely but then he hardly cared to remember all the little folk around him, scrambling about like sheep. Still, what were the odds that Dillan had been frozen or suffered at their senior prom? Good times.

His heterochromatic eyes slid over to the next human who seemed to be trying to insert himself into the tactical planning. If there was one male that he despised on this planet, it was the French national who always called himself a mercenary when they were younger. From the looks of him, Christophe DeLorne had most likely made it a self-fulfilling prophesy. For the time being, it looked like they would be working together.

Hmph, if only that bastard hadn't kept getting in his way, he would have taken out that sorry excuse for a rainbow and speaking of which, where would she be, he wondered. If there was one thing he wanted to do before he died, it was have that rainbow become intimate friends with Winslow. He wouldn't be surprised if Christophe had her hidden away just in case he tried to track her down.

As Christophe continued to share his expertise with the odd assortment of demons and devils, Bain's eyes drifted towards Charlotte. She was just there because it was her duty, nothing more. She was barely involving herself, a testament to that. How long would it be before she came to his side so as to try and remove herself from the planning?

Planning had never been her forte.

That was more his but he wasn't in a rush to provide any of them with his vast store of knowledge. They would have to _ask_ first and he might consider it.

Lastly, of the humans that is, was Kyle but currently the Hebrew descendent had decided to exclude himself from the proceedings. Last he heard, he was hanging around that three-headed dog, Kerberos. You read that right, Kerberos. That was the Greek form, not the Latin Cerberus. That left the only humanoid here, Damien.

He didn't get along with Damien, not since he had learned about that deal Charlotte had made with Satan to babysit him. Considering all the shit that had come along with that, that particular winter being quite memorable, he had remained quite wary of the Antichrist and anything having to do with him.

It could be worse, Bain supposed. The Antichrist could be female.

Bain was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of a cell phone ringing. Now that was an odd thing to hear in a place like Hell. He didn't think Hell could even get cell phone reception.

"Oh, that's me," Satan said as he pulled out an iPhone. What generation it was, Bain couldn't tell from this distance. "That's Dantalion's number. What does he want?"

"A problem on Earth?" Damien guessed.

"I'll find out," Satan said as he answered the call. "Talk to me."

At that point, Charlotte threw him a look, one that he interpreted as being that she didn't want to be here. Reap what you sow, Bain thought. She shouldn't have made that deal with Satan in the first place.

"Damien, Dantalion's talking about some mortal who's claiming to have intel on Heaven," Satan said to his son. "What's that?" he asked into the phone. "He's black? Don't let him touch anything."

And it appears racism was alive and well in Hell.

"How can we trust what this mortal says is true?" Damien questioned.

"That's a good point," Satan agreed. Into the phone, "Hey Dantalion? Tell that mortal he needs some proof if we're going to believe him. Uh huh. Yeah, you ask him right now." A moment passed with silence. "Okay, that's a pretty convincing piece of evidence. Use the emergency transportation device you have, you know, the one you need to use if you need to come back to base in a hurry. Yeah, that. Use that on the mortal. That intel is very sensitive."

Now what exactly was said that had Satan so paranoid all of a sudden, Bain wondered.

There was a plume of smoke exploding in front of the devil and a black man wearing a Yankees' cap and a red polo shirt appeared, coughing his lungs out.

Charlotte groaned in annoyance, pinching the bridge of her nose. Bain raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing.

"Yeah, he's here," Satan said into the phone. "I'll be sure to send a replacement. Thanks hun." Satan hung up and drew himself up, towering over the black man intimidatingly. "Welcome to Hell, mortal," the Prince of Darkness intoned in a deep, dark voice. "Speak now what information you possess."

"Holy shit," the black man gasped.

"I do not have time for you to get over yourself and understand the gravity of your situation mortal," Satan stated and Bain had to admit, he was impressed. It seemed like even Satan could be dark and foreboding when he wanted to.

"Yes, speak," Damien said as he came to the side of his father, arms crossed. "Whatever it is you know about Heaven, it piqued my father's interest."

"So you really are the Antichrist," the black man said.

"Hey Nathan? Skip the chitchat and start talking," Charlotte called out to the now named Nathan.

Bain narrowed his eyes. Due to the distance and the…changes, Bain hadn't recognized Nathan Wilkes. He also didn't pay a wink of attention to the rap scene or any CDs in that genre and thus wouldn't see the black rapper's mug on them. The secret admirer shows up. Bain did not like the way Nathan's eyes lit up as they spotted Charlotte and Bain couldn't resist slipping Winslow out, ready to maim this interloper.

Nathan hadn't grown out of his infatuation. It was one thing to hear about it from Charlotte but a completely differ matter to see it. He was going to have to rectify this before he returned to Stanford.

"Right, right," Nathan waved a hand at the already spoken for woman.

"Do start talking," Satan advised. "I am not patient when I hear someone mention the Book of Nemesis."

Book of Nemesis? Now what could that be? Judging by how everyone else was looking queerly at Satan, they were just as curious as the sociopath was.

"Right, well, one of the angels up in Heaven got some guys I know together and told them to try and steal it. Said you had it but wouldn't use it," Nathan said.

"Let me guess, Michael," Satan grumbled. "Arrogant prick. Reminds me of Charlie's boy toy."

That was disturbing. Apparently there was an angel up in Heaven that was just like him. And if it was Michael…then it would have to be the one who banished Lucifer, Satan, to Hell. Bad blood there but how someone similar to him was up in that city in the sky eluded his intellect.

"Is there anything else?" Satan continued. "Like maybe how these mortal recruits of Michael's are going to try and take God's cheatbook?"

"They mentioned trying to take Kyle," Nathan answered.

"Heh, too late for that," Damien chuckled. "Too bad they didn't act earlier or it might have worked."

"Please, like I would trade Nemesis for your obsession Damien," Satan rolled his eyes.

"Oh? And just what is the Book of Nemesis, Father?" Damien asked pointedly.

"The angel dude said it was something that could prove God wrong, that if whatever you wrote into it would come true," Nathan answered unbidden. "Book of Revelations part two."

"I don't believe he was asking you," Satan growled at Nathan.

"If that's true then why haven't you used it to gain the throne?" Damien continued his interrogation, a few of Satan's loyal generals nodding in agreement with the Antichrist. Bain smelled a potential mutiny at hand but said nothing about it. He was told not to talk, remember?

"As if I would do that! If you have to use a cheat like that, then you didn't do it by yourself. Only people who can't play the game would resort to that," Satan scoffed. "If I'm going to take over Heaven, I'm going to use my strength, my skill, and my own damned powers to do it. I'm not going to use the cosmic cheat sheet to do it. What kind of pussy do you think I am?"

Damien frowned at his father but to Bain's surprise, he witnessed the demons agreeing with Satan's logic. Sure they might be evil incarnate but they had Pride. Pride in their own strength, their own skill, their own damned powers.

"Besides, it just shows how weak Heaven is if Michael's trying to get it back," Satan added.

"Then why don't we use it instead? We could totally pwn Heaven once and for all," Damien said, grinning darkly.

"Sorry, no can do. You gotta do this on your own," Satan refused.

"But Father," Damien protested.

"Damien, I am only going to say this once," Satan put his foot down. "So long as I rule this damned kingdom, you will do as I say **and you will not defy my decisions. When I say you will not use the Book of Nemesis, you will not use the Book of Nemesis. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?**"

Damien shrank in on himself and lowered his head. "Yes Father."

Satan nodded sternly at his son and turned to Nathan, commanding, "If you met Michael, then you had to have been in Heaven. Tell me mortal, what is the strength of their forces? What secret weapons do they have planned to use?"

Nathan looked confused for a second and then sheepish. Bain snorted. Figured. The simpleton thought that if he just came with that bit about the Book of Nemesis, he could be in on this like he was one of the gang.

"Uh well, they…they have this blond guy, Gary, kept calling him the Second Coming," he said.

"Already knew about that," Satan rolled his eyes.

"There was someone else they kept calling Keanu Reeves…" Nathan mentioned desperately.

"What? They have their Keanu Reeves?" Satan exclaimed, horrified. Throwing his hands up in defeat, Satan proclaimed, "We might as well give up now. There's no way we can win!"

A lot of the demons were in agreement with their dark master but there were those who were not in the know. Specifically those who were mortal and from Earth.

"What's so bad about them having Keanu Reeves?" Dillan asked. "He's not that good of an actor."

"He's a symbol," a cloaked demon with gray skin and stringy white hair answered. "He unites the forces of Heaven and is a brilliant strategist. His combat skills are unparalleled and he was solely the reason why our last attempt to take Heaven failed. His mere presence will weaken the resolve of our forces."

"Zo we have to take zis Keanu Reeves out before ze battle," Christophe spoke up.

"Yeah, like we haven't tried that before," Satan grumbled.

"It's not like we can stop," Damien protested. "We're too far along. We can't give up now. Think! You're supposed to be the smartest and strongest in Hell! Think of something to annihilate this Keanu Reeves!"

This was really getting to them, wasn't it? He'd seen enough of this pity party. He might as well showcase his brilliance right now. Stepping forth, he strolled up to the Antichrist while tucking Winslow away. No need to get people thinking he was going to hurt him.

Coughing to get their attention, he politely asked, "If I may?"

"I thought I told you not to talk! Your voice is creepy," Satan reprimanded.

Bain pointedly ignored Nathan's snicker. "I just might have an idea to help you out of this quandary. If I may be permitted to speak it?"

Satan stared him down, Damien deferring to his father's judgment. Bain could feel all the eyes on him, chief of which was Charlotte's. Watch and learn, his little whore. He'll show you all how it's done.

"Fine, but be quick about it," Satan ordered.

"It's really simple," Bain said. "What better way is there to neutralize Keanu Reeves than to pit him up against the Anti-Keanu Reeves?"

Stunned silence. And then…

"Why didn't we think of this before?" a demon exclaimed.

"That's brilliant!" another cried.

"But who would be the Anti-Keanu Reeves?" the gray skinned demon with stringy white hair asked. From where he stood, Bain could see a scar and a pupil-less white eye.

"Why, the only person to have ever beaten Keanu Reeves in a fight," Bain answered, lips curving up into a smirk.

"But that would mean…" Damien trailed off, discovering the identity of their Anti-Keanu Reeves. "I guess a trip to Hollywood is needed."

* * *

It had been a while since Cartman had last set foot in South Park's Catholic Church. He'd lie and say he was here yesterday but he knew the truth. The priest, Father Maxi, didn't like him. Well, he didn't like Father Maxi back so they were even!

Still, he wouldn't be welcomed despite the doctrine of accepting all "lost souls" into this place so he did the only thing that would allow him access inside while being cool about it.

He broke into Father Maxi's office by climbing through the window.

He really should get better locks for this thing. Just anybody could sneak in the Father's office and do whatever they wanted. Why, there were some panties just under the window itself. Cartman, naturally, helped himself to those panties before somehow managing to fit his large weight through the window that should be widened just so fat—large people could fit through it.

Okay, he was in. Time to find some holy relics.

Trashing Father Maxi's office and only finding some sex paraphernalia, he found a golf bag half hidden in a closet. A surge of childhood mischievousness filled him and he took the nine iron out. He couldn't be surprised if that asshole priest blessed the things so he could have a better game, as if that crap actually worked.

One more club, though, and then Cartman could be making the rounds at the nearest golf range. That's what rich people did, right? Play golf. Prevent black people and women from playing golf. Except Tiger Woods because he was half white already.

Anyway, not finding anything else, Cartman stole into the main body of the church. The place was empty though some of the candles were lit. Father Maxi wasn't here, which was also good. Passing by the confessional booth, he paused as he heard a strange sound coming from it.

Must be his

Now where can he find something that he could use to fight the forces of evil? His eyes scanned over everything from the stained glass windows, the crosses, one cross that had a carved figure of Jesus on it, bibles, a small glass box with the words IN CASE OF DEMONIC POSSESSION BREAK GLASS printed on it, and he found absolutely nothing that could be of use. This place was useless!

Then he spotted it. It was an ornate stand that held a small tub but it was what was in the tub that caught his attention.

Holy water.

That'll do.

* * *

There was a knock on the door. "Mr. Weaving? Somebody is here to see you."

"Let them in," the rough yet smoothly intellectual voice of Hugo Weaving called out, his eyes not leaving the script for Transformers 7: Michael Bay Blows Shit Up. He was the voice of Megatron, damn it, and he wouldn't stop now when he was still in his prime.

He didn't hear the door to his room open, so focused was he on his script, but he sure did hear it slam, breaking his concentration. Eyes darkened with ire, he schooled his features so as to not allow his irritation to show as he greeted his visitor.

"It's you," he stated, not even blinking at the sight before him.

"Hello Mr. Weaving," Damien the Antichrist greeted him. "It has been some time since we last met."

"To what do I owe the pleasure," he greeted blandly, wanting to get past the pleasantries.

"No desire to talk to shop?" Damien teased. "Very well, I shall get to the point. It's time to pay the piper."

He frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

"We had a deal, or at least you have one with my father, and he wants to collect," the Antichrist stated. "It's time to put those glasses back on and take up arms."

"I am no longer in possession of that strength," Hugo Weaving stated. "I am far too old—"

"We know the truth. It doesn't matter," Damien interrupted. "Are you saying that you are reneging on your deal?"

"No, no, I'm not," he sighed.

"You are a man of your word, are you not?" Damien pressed.

"I am," he replied, not looking at the Antichrist.

"Then you know what you must do," Damien said. "Heaven has championed its own Keanu Reeves and you're the only one who can defeat him. You are the only one who has beaten him in a physical fight at least. You are our only chance for victory; otherwise I wouldn't be here. Fulfill your end of the bargain and you can finally live whatever life you have left in you without fear of my father or myself."

Hugo Weaving sighed. It was starting to look like he had no choice. "Very well then. You go on. I'll catch up."

"Oh? Are you sure you don't need my help?" Damien asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"I am more than capable of reaching your father's side," he spat out, losing a bit of his patience. "Just…go. I need to compose myself."

"Don't take too long…composing yourself," Damien said stiffly. "I'll be right outside just in case."

Hugo Weaving said nothing and waited until his visitor took his leave. As soon as the door was shut and he was sure he was alone, the actor slumped in on himself. Just two minutes ago, he was preparing himself for his upcoming role and now…

He had promised himself, never again. He much preferred being other people. Elrond of Rivendell. V. Red Skull. His true self on the other hand…he had wanted to leave that life. That was where that deal came in, that favor. But he was a man of his word, regardless of his role.

Even if it was with Satan himself.

He reached over to a small drawer and pulled it open. His hand dived in and pulled out a small case, one that would usually hold a pair of glasses. With trepidation, he opened it, revealing a pair of sunglasses.

Placing the opened case on the vanity in front of him, he stared at the glasses as they stared back alluringly. They were calling him, telling him to reclaim who he really was. He didn't want to and yet he did. It was a siren's call, one that he was not strong enough to resist.

Maybe if he had been Gandalf…

His hands shaking, he lifted the sunglasses out of the case and unfolded the arms. With a deep breath, he placed them on.

His entire body was covered with small digital boxes. It lasted less than a second but when he reemerged into reality, he was dressed in a suit and tie, power radiating from his every pore. He was back and it was time to do what he did best.

"Soon we will meet again Mr. Anderson," Agent Smith declared.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own anything concerning Hugo Weaving.


	15. A Sad Attempt at Parley

Author's Note: Quite a bit happens this chapter. So much so that I was able to get this one out at a fast clip. Got a couple jokes in here I've been planning to do for quite some time. Let's see if any of you can get the references, as obvious as they'll be. Next chapter ought to be more exciting though. As to why that is, you'll have to read to find out. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

A Sad Attempt at Parley

So far their kidnapping scheme was a bust. Kenny couldn't believe that it had fallen through so quickly. Somehow or another, Damien must have known that their side was making a grab for the Book of Nemesis and had taken precautions. Kyle was beyond their reach as confirmed when calls to his phone did not make it to his voice mail.

But how? He couldn't figure it out. No one outside of Heaven knew what they were up to so how could Damien have known? There was no other explanation the blond could come up with other than coincidence and thanks to his night life he didn't believe in coincidence.

There was a leak somewhere. Had to be. But where?

"Anybody else have any bright ideas?" Brittany asked, taking care not to get too close to anything. Yeah, his garage wasn't the cleanest of places but he did nothing but work on cars here. The filth got tracked all over the place no matter where he went.

"I got nothing," Clyde shrugged.

"Come on guys, we can't give up on this!" Stan declared in a bout of leadership. "There's gotta be some way we can do this. We just need to think of something!"

"Why don't you do that?" Craig said, not caring where he was. The back of his pants had oil stains on them from sitting on an innocent chair that was set against a wall. Kenny recalled that he every now and then placed tools on the thing because it was conveniently placed.

"If I could, I would have done so already," Stan retorted. "I don't see you coming up with any ideas, _Craig_."

"I have none," Craig shrugged.

"Guys, guys, calm down," Wendy intervened. "We're stressed. Perhaps we need some kind of new perspective."

"That's a great idea!" Stan exclaimed. Pausing for a second, he asked, "What kind of perspective?"

Kenny resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, an old gesture that he remembered Stan doing a lot when they were younger. It seemed like the idiocy of this town had infected his old friend and reduced him to this. Not that he was surprised; Stan did have the genes of his father, Randy, and everyone in South Park knew of Randy in one way or another.

"Stan, just cool it," Kyra said from behind him. "Rushing it isn't going to help. I think what she means is that we take a break and come back with fresh minds."

"That's not a bad idea," Craig said.

"Well, it's not what I was thinking but it works," Wendy shrugged. "Let's take the rest of the day off and start off fresh in the morning. We've been up all night and I bet everyone's tired."

"I'm not!" Stan protested. "Do you really think this is something that can wait?"

"Unless you have any better ideas…?" Wendy shot back, purposely trailing off.

Stan stared his former girlfriend down before slumping and admitting, "I can't think of anything."

"My point precisely," Wendy nodded.

Kenny was leaning more towards Stan in wanting to take care of this as soon as possible but he was more than willing to admit that Wendy and Kyra had a point. They had been up all night without sleep and the best they had come up with was taking hostage and ransoming Kyle for the Book. Such a plan had left a bad taste in his mouth but Kenny wouldn't admit that he had felt somewhat relieved that they didn't get to go through with it.

"I'm going home," Craig announced. "I need a shower and am going to get bitched out by my wife for not coming home last night. I'll see you guys later."

"Do you need a ride?" Alice perked up, following after Craig.

"That would be nice," Craig said, a dreamy look on his face as he left Kenny's view.

Alice was a model, wasn't she? Damn she had a fine ass. A shame she didn't stick around so that he could show her why his middle name was Casanova. Wait, Bebe was a model too, right? Maybe it wasn't a complete loss.

"Craig's got the right idea. We meeting up back here?" Clyde said, stopping to ask one last question.

"Maybe a different place of venue," Wendy said, peering around the garage. "I'll let you know where we'll meet up."

Clyde nodded as he took his leave and their numbers were dwindling. Stan, meanwhile, didn't look happy but at the same time Kenny knew that he would go with the crowd. Sure, every once in a while Stan did something that made him stand out but without some kind of support he always ended up doing what everyone else did. Stan turned to Kyra and opened his mouth but his other former girlfriend beat him to it.

"I'll be okay by myself. Can anyone take me to the bowling alley? That's where my car is," Kyra said to Stan's unasked question.

"I can. We took my car here," Wendy volunteered before Stan could. "Bebe? You coming along?"

"Sure," Bebe shrugged. "But what about her?" she asked, gesturing towards Anna who looked shaken. Kenny was reminded of Tweek Tweak right now and he almost smiled at the memory of his jittery peer and one time replacement. If she screamed "too much pressure!" then it would be perfect.

"Hey Anna? You want to stay here?" Wendy asked softly, going up to the Russian and crouching in front of her, giving the immigrant a smile. "Or do you want to come with us?"

"Come with," Anna answered softly, throat a bit raspy.

"Alright," Wendy nodded and took her hand, leading Anna out with Bebe and Kyra following after her.

That just left him, Stan, and Brittany. Weren't they missing somebody? Cartman, he could recall, went off to do his own thing he remembered but wasn't there somebody—

"Where's Nathan?" Kenny asked out loud, eyes sharp as he looked around the garage.

"That rapper?" Stan frowned. "Haven't seen him."

"Is something wrong?" Brittany asked.

"I don't know," Kenny said, "but—"

"Keanu Reeves! There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"

Another interruption it seemed. This time it was not Kenny stopping his own thoughts but a certain angel he knew too well for his own good. What was this guy, Heaven's beeper?

"Dude, where did you come from?!" Stan exclaimed, clutching at his chest.

"Heaven. Where else?" Gabriel shrugged. Then to him, "Your presence is required, Kenny. And maybe if you know about the whereabouts of Mysterion, you can have him show up. We are about to engage Hell in an epic battle that will determine the fate of all mankind. So yes, that's a thing."

"You're doing this thing now? I thought we had more time," Kenny said, taken aback.

"Well, we move quickly," Gabriel shrugged. "One mortal day is all the preparation we otherworldly kind need to prepare for war. Sometimes less. Regardless, we need to go. That parley is about to happen and we want your presence to scare the shit out of Hell's representatives so that possibly we can get their surrender before we incur any major loss of heavenly life."

"I hear ya, I hear ya," Kenny sighed. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll be ready."

"Just as long as you make it quick," Gabriel allowed.

"Kenny? Are you sure you should be doing this?" Brittany asked. Aw, she was worried for him.

"I do this kind of thing all the time," he said, a bit boastfully he would admit.

"I don't doubt that," Stan chimed. "Any way I can get in on this action?"

"It would be best if you stayed out of it and help with the others on getting that book," Kenny replied. "Shit's about to get real and it's the kind of thing that stays permanent if you know what I mean."

"Aw, but I want to get in on the action! It's no fun being on the sidelines," Stan pouted as he crossed his arms like a petulant child.

"Trust me Stan, this is the kind of thing you don't want to be on the frontlines for," Kenny said as he entered his "office" where he kept an extra Mysterion costume just in case he needed it.

* * *

"Now Sweetie, this is going to be your first parley. It's perfectly fine to be nervous but you can't show any weakness," Satan told his one and only son. "Those angelic bastards will sniff it out if you do and use it against you."

"Yes, yes, I've heard it a thousand times," Damien grumbled. "Stop mothering me!"

"But you're my only son! If I can't worry about you then who can I worry about?" Satan protested.

"What about all those fetuses you aborted? Because you did that we're in this mess," Damien fired back.

"Is it my fault that overly-sensitive Christians have something against abortion? And is it my fault that I have to be the living embodiment of evil and do the things they say you can't or shouldn't do?" Satan retorted.

"I don't see how you could even get pregnant!" Damien exclaimed. "How would that physical work!"

Bain was getting a headache from all the back and forth and only after so much, he had to take his leave. He had had a lot of his expectations of professionalism shattered over the past couple hours and seeing as how Satan himself was just one fuck-up of opposing concepts broiled into one red-skinned monstrosity, the sociopath was beginning to think that he should give up hopes for some kind of organization.

Why were they even bothering with this parley business? Shouldn't they just throw their armies out and clash with one another to the death? Why hadn't he stayed in Stanford and continued on with his research and killing spree? Oh wait, that's right, he may have missed Charlotte just a little too much.

At the very least he wasn't in South Park and having to suffer under the attentions of Tammy.

He trekked his way through the bowls of Hell and towards Beelzebub's former quarters, currently Charlotte's new quarters. She would have to take over some day and while Beelzebub was off…doing whatever it is he did while being unemployed, the vacancy would remain.

At least there he could get some privacy in this place. Dealing with so many people, human or otherwise, was fraying his nerves. Not that he had a lot of nerves to begin with but he found that when he didn't have to interact much they tended to last longer.

Finally, Charlotte's future abode. He would admit, he was a bit jealous that she had such a luxurious afterlife waiting for her. All he had to look forward to was an everlasting afterlife of torment and agony. Why Satan would choose Charlotte of all people went beyond his extensive intellect.

Perhaps the isolation and privacy he was about to indulge in would provide him the opportunity to think it over.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Or maybe not.

Bain frowned and turned his head around just enough to see who was behind him and what do you know. He had been meaning to look into the Nathan problem and it seemed like Nathan was giving him the opportunity to do deal with it now.

"If it isn't the interloper," he drawled out as he turned around fully to address this adversary.

"Interloper? Where did you get that?" Nathan snarked at him.

"You're quite the assertive type," Bain remarked, crossing his arms over his chest. His heterochromatic eyes gleamed as he took in the sight of everything that was Nathan, memorizing him and filing it away. "Yet it was you who followed me."

"Yeah, because you and I have some business," Nathan retorted, stepping closer to use his height for intimidation purposes. Oh, how basic and primal. Really, he's terrified. Would work better if he weren't so vertically challenged and used to having to crane his head back in order to speak with people.

"My, my, for once we're in agreement," Bain said. Looking Nathan up and down, he continued, "You've changed a lot in some ways but in others…" looking pointedly at Nathan's wardrobe choice, "…not so much."

"Trying to be cryptic and riddle your way into having the intellectual advantage," Nathan chuckled. "You haven't changed one bit."

Bain narrowed his eyes. Already calling out his standard M.O.? Perhaps Nathan had changed more than he had thought. "I've heard you've done quite well for yourself. You've certainly come a long way from the awkward teen who pissed himself after having a conversation with me."

"Only you would call it a conversation," Nathan retorted. "I'm not that guy anymore. I own and operate my own recording company. I'm a musical sensation. I'm fucking famous. What are you, huh?"

"Psychological researcher," Bain stated bluntly.

"That's doesn't make much, does it?" Nathan taunted.

"You think I care about that?" Bain snorted. "That is not why we're here, is it?"

"And for once, I agree with you," Nathan chuckled darkly. The black man grabbed him by the lapels of his trenchcoat and pulled him close. "You know what I want, don't you?"

"If it's the same as it was all those years ago, then it would have to be Charlotte," Bain said. "You want her."

"I want her," Nathan agreed.

"You can't have her," Bain stated.

"That's what you think," Nathan smirked.

"It's not what I think, it's fact," Bain replied. "Is it not Charlotte's choice to see whoever she wants?"

"Of course it is and I think it would be better for her if you decide to go your separate ways," Nathan said.

"So then she can make the choice that you want her to make and choose you," Bain finished. "You obviously don't know Charlotte."

"And that's what I want to change," Nathan said.

"There's no guarantee that she'll accept you," Bain said. "You're not her type."

"How do you know that, huh? For all I know you're just trying to trick me into giving up," Nathan growled.

"If there is anything that hasn't changed, it's your stubbornness," Bain commented. "I suppose your greatest weakness is that you refuse to quit."

"Weakness? Would I be where I am if I just gave up?" Nathan said incredulously. "You know what you are? You're some nobody who thinks he's better than everybody else but has done nothing to prove it. Psychological researcher? Who cares. You've done nothing to show that you're better than anybody else. You're pathetic, meaningless, and I bet you know it. You know it and it scares the shit out of you."

"Could it be that you're describing yourself?" Bain inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Do you think that being successful is going to impress a woman like Charlotte? If so, you're under an illusion. But then again, illusions are all you have. It's what helped you to get as far as you have and accomplish all that you have. My congratulations. But all the riches, all the prestige, all the successes won't get you what you really want."

"And what makes you say that?" Nathan demanded.

"The battle for Charlotte's heart has already been won and you weren't the victor," Bain hissed into Nathan's face, the African American male shoving him away and into some kind of stand. Bain wasn't sure what it was but didn't care to investigate. He focused his attention solely on Nathan and began his onslaught. "What is this really for then? Your ego? Overcompensation?"

"That won't work," Nathan snapped and cracked his knuckles. "You know that I have black belts in several martial arts?"

"I see." Bain's eyes gained an unholy gleam. "Competition. You saw me as a rival back then, didn't you? You still see me as one now. So you build yourself up. Not just socially but physically as well. Was I your model? How I would use violence and threats to achieve my ends and you saw how far it got me with Charlotte. You figure, if I can be like that, then Charlotte will have to like me too."

There wasn't much light in here and it was hard to see but Bain spotted it. Nathan's jaw clenched and his dark brown eyes narrowed at him. Either Nathan was annoyed or he was getting to him.

"Except, you tell yourself that you'll be better," Bain continued, boring his eyes into Nathan's. "You'll be better in everything. The world. Your skills. Everything. You think that will be enough and that when you return, armed with countless victories and me out of the picture, you'll sweep Charlotte off her feet, proving that you are superior than me. But then she rebuffs you. You don't understand. Did you do something wrong? Did you not get something right? What? She turns you down, she looks through you, you can't understand it.

"All those inadequacies you felt for that one moment in time that we met came back, didn't they? You felt weak and you hated it. But it wasn't to Charlotte you felt it towards. It was to me, the man who still holds her heart, even when I'm a thousand miles away."

"Shut up," Nathan growled.

Bull's-eye.

"It's not just about Charlotte, it's about me," Bain pressed, digging further into Nathan. "It's about how you compare yourself to me. It's about beating me, isn't it? Charlotte's heart is incidental in comparison to proving your worth. I'm the enemy that needs to be destroyed or beaten severely telling by how tightly clenched your fists are. You're scared, scared that after all this time, all the work, the effort, the pining, that you will still lose to me. That you will be right where you were almost eleven years ago and you are no closer to achieving your goal that you were the moment you pissed your pants."

"I'm going to enjoy this a lot." Nathan grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling an arm back.

Must everything resort to physical violence?

Bain whipped out Winslow from his sleeve, fully intent on stabbing the blade deep into his would-be assaulter. That was the plan but Nathan's skills as a fighter put a nasty end to that plan. The arm that had been pulled back redirected itself to intercept Winslow and a twist of his wrist disarmed him. Bain hissed in pain and he was spun around and slammed right into the surface he had been shoved into earlier. The arm that once held Winslow was pinned against his back, Nathan's iron grip bringing his wrist towards his shoulder which was quite the uncomfortable position.

"One of my first classes was learning how to disarm someone with a weapon," Nathan told him. "Unlike some people, I learn from my encounters with you."

Bain couldn't help it; he laughed despite his discomfort. "Not bad," he spat out, twisting his head around as much as he could so that he could look Nathan in the eye. It was a difficult proposition and he didn't quite make it but he did get a good view of the entrance. "You have me at your mercy. Or do you?"

"That's not going to work," Nathan told him, pulling his arm back further.

Grimacing, Bain refused to shut up. "That's one area you can't beat me at. Build up your strength as much as you can, reinforce your mental fortitude as much as you want, I don't need a degree in clinical psychology to get into your head. I know the truth about you, just how weak you really are."

"Weak?" Nathan repeated and brought his arm almost to the point of dislocation. "Does this look weak to you?"

"Not at all," Bain replied, teeth clenched together to prevent him from expressing his agony. "But I do sure hope that Charlotte can get a good look at you now. Perhaps a sneak peak at what a future with you has in store?"

"Trying to throw me off again and being cryptic? Your mind games do not work on me," Nathan stated.

"I beg to differ," Bain said.

"So do I."

Bain could feel Nathan pause behind him as he registered the new voice. Well, new wasn't quite the word since they both knew who had spoken, even if Nathan was only starting to realize it.

It was Charlotte to the rescue and she did not look pleased, with either of them it seemed. Bain knew that look all too well as he had been the recipient of it many a time.

"Charlotte!" Nathan exclaimed.

"Let him go," Charlotte said coldly.

Bain was a bit annoyed that the black asshole (now he was sounding like Cartman!) obeyed and released him. He felt the relief in his arm so he couldn't hold it against Charlotte.

Nathan opened his mouth to speak but Charlotte held up a hand and cut him up. "Save it. I don't want to hear it." Ah, that tone of voice. The "don't fucking speak to me" voice that once again he had been a recipient of many a time. "You," she turned to him. "Pick up your knife and come with me. Damien wants you for the parley."

An eyebrow raising comment if he ever did hear one. It was worthy of him raising both in surprise. "Why?" he asked as he rubbed life back into his arm and bent down to retrieve Winslow. Did he get a knick when he fell against the stone floor, Bain wondered as he eyed the masculinized blade.

"He wants you to wear this," Charlotte said as she threw the article at him. Bain fumbled with it but once he got a good look at it…

"I am not wearing this damn thing," he glared furiously at her.

"Now is not the time to argue with me, dipshit," Charlotte snapped at him.

"But Charlotte…" Nathan spoke up again, looking quite distressed Bain felt the need to add.

"Not now," Charlotte snapped at the black male. "Bain. Put the damn thing on. I have to get dressed up too, ridiculously I might add, and if I have to go down, I'm bringing you with me. Put it on or I'll do it for you."

* * *

Wendy brought the car to a stop in front of the bowling alley. They were back but not there to continue where they had left off last night. It would be safe to say that bowling night was a bust and that the high school reunion was officially over.

Next time they got together, Wendy thought that maybe just a get-together would suffice. If others wanted to still do a bar night, it would be fine with her but she wouldn't be planning anymore. Really, she should have expected that something would go wrong. Their last Homecoming someone was murdered. The Christmas of their senior year was…yeah. Their Senior Prom was sabotaged and an utter catastrophe. It would stand to reason that their ten year high school reunion might have been a catalyst for this whole war between Heaven and Hell.

She was not ruling it out yet. Seriously, when would she learn that everything that could go wrong in South Park would go wrong?

Putting the vehicle in park, she looked over the driver's seat and said to the others, "Guess this is where we part ways. Anna, you want to stick with me or do your own thing?"

"I'll stick with you," Anna said quietly and made no attempt to remove her seat belt.

"Bebe?" Wendy asked, turning to the front passenger seat.

"I'll follow you to where you're staying," Bebe answered as she took her seat belt off. "I don't want to leave my car here of all places."

"Got ya," Wendy nodding. Hearing one of the rear passenger doors open, Wendy turned back to where Kyra was getting out. "Hey Kyra? Mind if I have a word with you?"

"Um…sure," Kyra answered.

"I'll be right back," Wendy told Anna as she took off her seat belt and got out of the car. "I'll leave the engine on." Shutting the driver's door, she fell in beside Kyra as the two headed for Kyra's car.

"Is there something you want to say to me?" Kyra asked after a moment of silence.

"Yeah, I wanted to ask you about Stan," Wendy said.

"What about Stan?" Kyra asked stiffly.

"I've noticed that things are a bit…strained between you two," Wendy said. "Did something happen between you guys? Because I could swear that you two were married but I don't see a finger on your finger so…"

"We…had a falling out in college," Kyra stated. "It was stupid but the next day Stan was long gone and the next time I hear about him, he's some kind of prodigy on Wall Street. I figured that he wouldn't want to be reminded of the last time we were together so…time makes fools of us all, I guess."

"And Stan is being Stan," Wendy finished. "So you broke up but not really and from the way I've seen him sticking close to you when he's not showing how much he is his father's son, it looks like he's trying to get you back."

"I decided to close that chapter of my life and start on a new one," Kyra stated as she reached her car. "Stan seems so happy with what he's doing and I don't want to intrude on that."

"I don't know why I don't believe you," Wendy said. Holding up a hand to forestall any protest from Kyra, Wendy continued, "This is coming from another person who dated him. If he's dead set on you, he's dead set. I'd like to say just let him get it out of his system but he did inherit his father's stubbornness and some of his idiocy."

"I know," Kyra said and Wendy detected that there was something else in those words.

"Let me guess, throughout this whole weekend, he's been pursuing you, right?" Wendy guessed.

Kyra nodded but said nothing.

"And at some point, after doing who knows what, he gets you in bed," Wendy added.

Kyra's cheeks blushed yet she nodded anyway.

"I don't blame you for that look," Wendy said. "When we still dated and screwed, he could make you cry tears of joy."

"But I heard the last time you faked it," Kyra spoke up, her blush reddening.

"Yeah, for a while he became really vanilla. I think his mind was somewhere else," Wendy shrugged. "What I'm trying to say is don't let him get to you if you don't want him to. Mentally I mean. It's too late for physical, am I right?"

Kyra looked like she could rival a tomato.

"I don't envy you girl but I recommend you come to a decision about Stan as soon as possible," Wendy recommended. "Stan tends to get worse the longer he goes. Do what feels right, okay?"

"Okay," Kyra practically whispered and Wendy had to strain her ears to hear her but she did in the end. "Um, Wendy? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Wendy said, feeling like she was a big sister to her former classmate.

"What would you do if you accidentally got drunk, made out with a drunk Stan, say a bunch of dirty stuff that would make a nun blush—(**the following has been edited out to retain a T rating**)—and end up doing it doggy style?" Kyra asked innocently.

Wendy blinked, unable to get a grip on what she had just heard. Wow. Sounds like Stan graduated from missionary. And they hadn't done half that stuff when they were together. Just… Wow.

"I…I'd think over what you want to do," Wendy's voice cracked. "And…and don't rush to a decision."

"Alright. Thank you," Kyra nodded as she got into her car and started the engine.

Meanwhile, Wendy was heading back to her still rumbling car and was still trying to comprehend everything Kyra had told her.

She really needed to stop trying to be a big sister to her former peers.

* * *

Brianna narrowed her eyes as she watched a foreign car pull up in front of her house and Craig, her husband let her remind you, get out of it. Now where the hell had he been?

After spending the morning in Hell, Brianna had found herself being sent back up to Earth to, and she is quoting Damien here, "earn her keep." Thanks to that one black guy, his name began with an N, it was learned that Craig was on Heaven's side and was working to try and get the Book of Nemesis. It was decided that, since she was his wife, she would be sent to spy on her husband and see what she could find out.

So she had been here for the remainder of the day, waiting for Craig to get back and when he finally does what does she see? Why, he's in the car of that bimbo she saw him with at the reunion! Now that rankled, it really did. She was reminded of how she got into this position in this first place.

Well, now she had even more motivation to succeed at it. She would prove herself to Damien and get him to notice her. Then she could put the moves on the man she had learned was the Antichrist and get him to like her back. If you were thinking that finding out that the man she had set her sights on was the son of the devil would put her off him, think again.

Here was a guy who was a somebody. In fact, he was a somebody before he even became mayor! And she had overheard all the talk about an apocalypse being planned with Damien at the center of it. All that meant to Brianna was that Damien was going places, it was already decided, and she wanted in.

So she was going to have to spy on her husband and find out what he knew. That was something she was more than willing to do.

"Ugh, I'm home," Craig announced as he finally entered the house. Brianna was still watching that bimbo who hadn't driven off yet and her suspicions of an affair were strengthened. "Brianna? Are you here?"

"I'm here," she answered testily, turning away from the window and heading over to the couch so that it wouldn't look like she was watching him beforehand.

"There you are," Craig said as he stood in the entrance to the living room. Only a few feet away, the TV was on and some kind of soap opera was playing. Brianna didn't know what it was about and frankly didn't care. It was just on for some background noise anyway.

"Yes, here I am and here you are," Brianna spat out. "Where have you been, hmm? You were supposed to be back home last night."

"Something came up," Craig shrugged and made to head for the stairs.

"I bet something did," Brianna said, staring pointedly at Craig's crouch.

Craig paused and turned back to her. "What does that mean?"

"What other reason would a man, like you, be doing out so late only to come home, in the early afternoon I might add, and not be at work like he's supposed to be?" Brianna demanded.

"Whatever you're thinking, it's wrong," Craig said. "I'm a straight and narrow guy and I would never do anything like what you're thinking."

"Oh, and what am I thinking?" Brianna retorted. "Since you know so much, tell me Mr. Mind Reader."

"I'm going to head up to the shower," Craig said slowly.

"To wash off the evidence, I bet," Brianna shot.

"What evidence?" Craig asked, frowning at her.

"That's right, I forgot, I'm wrong," Brianna said, throwing her arms up in the air. "Silly me."

"Brianna, I'm not that kind of person, all right?" Craig said, trying to set things straight. Heh, how straight was he? "Something came up last night and I got involved with it against my better judgment."

"And what, pray tell, is that?" Brianna demanded, folding her arms over her breasts.

"I don't think you would believe me even if I told you," Craig stated.

"Try me," Brianna glared at her husband, if she could still call him that.

Craig stared at her for a moment and Brianna wondered what was taking him so long to say anything. Finally, the dead beat said, "I don't think you would. You don't believe half of what I say anyway."

Brianna gaped at him. What? But shouldn't he be admitting to something right now? Instead, he was heading over to the stairs and she was no more closer to hearing about what he and the others were up to. That was unacceptable and she couldn't prove herself to Damien without something!

"We aren't finished!" she growled as she followed after her husband.

"Look, I need a quick shower. I haven't had one since yesterday," Craig said as he climbed the stairs.

"I bet you haven't had one," Brianna spat. "Get back here! We're not done!"

"Brianna," Craig spun around to face her and the…displeased look he had on his face stopped her cold. Craig didn't really show much emotion, at least to her, but when he did it was usually worth shutting up for. "I have never nor ever will I cheat on you. Get that through your head while I go take a shower. I'll be down in a bit and you can bitch at me for however long you want, like usual."

Brianna remained froze where she was, a foot on the bottommost step and stunned at the reprimand she had been given. Not even her own parents had spoken to her like that before.

Her eyes narrowed. Oh, did he think that this was over? Oh no, she hadn't gotten her dirt yet. She would get Craig to tell her about what Heaven was up to and she was going to make Damien hers through that. Life may have thrown her a lot of curve balls but she wasn't about to give up yet.

Just wait until he came back down and she was really going to let him have it.

* * *

"I know it may not look like it but this is an amazing feat. For once, we're the ones on the offensive," Michael told his fellow holy fighters, his comment aimed more at Gary and Mysterion. It was a wonderful surprise to have the crime fighting vigilante here to fulfill the role of their Keanu Reeves and the archangel made a note of it to ask how Kenny knew how to contact this dark hero.

From up ahead, one of the Gates to Hell could be seen with the naked eye and Michael lifted his head up snootily at the sight. Beyond those gates was the Dark Kingdom itself. Hell. And within was the fallen angel himself, the Morning Star, the Prince of Darkness, Satan who resided there with the almighty Book of Nemesis.

They needed to keep up the ruse that this was going to be another war between them. Satan didn't need to know that Michael was hoping to retrieve the Book that had placed God in his rightful place in the universe. If he was fortunate enough, this was going to be the war to end all wars. Good would prevail like it always did and Evil would scurry back to its lair, tail between its leg in defeat.

It was a feeling that made him glad that he was an angel, an archangel to be precise, and the embodiment of Good.

"Are we all prepared?" Mysterion asked in that gravelly voice of his that made a tingle shoot up through Michael's spine. God he loved that voice!

"Yes sir, Mysterion," Michael nodded. "We have the golden PSP ready for you to use to direct our troops. Gary, I hope you'll hold back on this one and watch. If we need you down there for some Christ-like miracle, you'll be fully rested and able to help us out of a bind."

"Alright," Gary nodded and was it Michael or did their Second Coming look uncomfortable?

There was a loud groan and Michael returned his attention to the Gates of Hell, gazing impassively as the black, brimstone-wrought gates began to open, Hell's hoard just beyond it.

"Parley team, be ready to move out," Michael commanded. They would soon get all the verbal stuff out of the way. If the forces of Hell would be reasonable, then they could end this all with a quick discussion and Hell's surrender. Yeah, Michael had this all thought out.

He would be like, "you guys don't stand a chance," and they would be all, "please don't hurt us," and he would be all, "give up and I might consider it," and they would be…

Mysterion whistled. "That's a lot of demons."

"Eh?" Michael awoke from his thoughts. Focusing on what was ahead, the archangel gulped as he saw the immense size of Hell's forces. That was a big army… Not that they weren't big either! They were Good! They would win this battle by default even if they had inferior numbers!

"Hold your ground!" he ordered to his men though no one shifted and shied away from the epic fight before them. "Parley team, advance!"

A few minutes later, the parley team emerged at the front of the army, a total of five. Michael was one of them as he was one of the head generals here. Gabriel, Uriel, and Gary were also accompanying, the first two because they needed more angels and Gary because the Second Coming had to have some kind of psychological effect on Hell's ambassadors. Mysterion was coming along as well, you know, so Michael could show off their Keanu Reeves.

A slightly larger parley team appeared at the front of Hell's forces and advanced towards them. Michael raised his head, squared his shoulders, and took the lead, strolling over to face off with what Hell would try to pass off as trash talk.

As he drew closer, Michael immediately recognized the Antichrist leading his group. So Damien was going to be in charge, huh? Satan was going to regret letting his son who had no military experience behind him lead his troops into battle. Beside the Antichrist, Michael recognized the figure of Beelzebub's replacement, the mortal Charlie White. She was dressed a bit…revealing and she did not look happy with it. Michael noted Beelzebub's circlet on her head and passed over her to see who else was here.

There was the random demon and another demon who Michael knew as Demonius to be exact. One of Satan's top advisors and if Michael recalled right, he helped planned that Super Sweet 16 Halloween Party a few years back. Michael hadn't gotten an invitation for it. That scarred mug of his was quite the eyesore for the archangel. Next there was some human-looking guy, dirty, had a shovel strapped to his back. Probably some mercenary. Was Hell outsourcing or something? By this point, Miachel decided to ignore the rest and set his sights on the smug-looking Damien.

Oh how he wanted to wipe that smile off that Antichrist's prick face.

"Well, well, if it isn't the head prick," Damien greeted.

Michael sneered, "Funny, I was about to say the same thing."

"You were never original," Damien replied.

Michael paused, thought about what Damien said for a moment, then retorted, "Shut up!"

"I'm shaking in my schoolboy shoes," Damien said dryly.

Michael looked down at Damien's feet. "But you aren't wearing schoolboy shoes."

"I know," Damien smirked.

"Um, excuse me? Can I say something?" Gary spoke up, stepping in front of Michael. "Hey Damien," the Mormon waved at the Antichrist.

"You again?" Damien's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah," Gary agreed.

"You're just like a bad penny. You always keep showing up," Damien spat out.

"But I'm your bad penny," Gary said, smiling brightly.

"Christ, we have to deal wiz zis?" the outsourced mercenary with the shovel groaned.

"Hey Christophe," Gary greeted the mercenary. "Hey Charlie."

"The Second Coming, even I want to like him," Demonius commented. "He is not to be underestimated."

"Hey demon whose name I don't know but would like to know," Gary continued. "Damien," he said, turning back to a fuming Antichrist, "it's not too late. We don't have to go through with this. We can all turn back, you give up your plans for a preemptive apocalypse, and we can all go home, alive. What do ya say?"

"You're too nice for your own good, you know that?" Charlie said, crossing her arms and looking away.

"Christ, that was a good speech," Gabriel said, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Touching," Damien said, "but my answer is no."

There was a pause and Michael couldn't believe what he had just heard. Gary had given a very heartfelt speech there, even Michael the battle-hardened archangel had been affected by it, and this unholy bastard has the gall to say no? Oh Hell to that naw! Nuh uh! No way was this being let go!

"You heartless bastard," Michael lowered himself to name-calling.

"I'm not a bastard; I have a father," Damien replied. "Can't say the same thing about you."

"Now that's just low!" Michael exclaimed. "That's below the belt! Who do you think you are, huh?"

Damien opened his mouth to reply but stopped for some reason. Michael was a bit surprised to see the Antichrist give a look to Charlie who then gave a look to the short person beside her. Huh, hadn't noticed that guy there. Must have been because he was so short. Black trenchcoat, pale as fuck skin, and heterochromatic eyes that were freaky to look at that glared from behind a strange looking mask. Just a bunch of tubes that went up and over the top of head as well as to either side. The front had a mess of small respiratory tubes that resembled teeth and Michael was having flashback to a Christopher Nolan movie.

The short, masked individual rolled his eyes at Charlie's look and with said freaky eyes, looked straight up and said, "_It doesn't matter who we are. What matters is our plan_."

Holy shit, it was Bane! They got Bane! So that meant the mercenary with the shovel was his lackey! It all made sense now.

"You got Bane?" Michael exclaimed. "A supervillain?!"

"Pretty impressive, huh?" Damien smirked.

"You think that's impressive?" Michael was scrambling for words when his eyes lit up. "Well…well we got ourselves a superhero! Your big, bad Bane is no match for Mysterion!"

"Please don't bring me into this," Mysterion said. "You're making a big mistake putting me in the spotlight so soon Michael."

Another look towards Bane. "_Not as serious as yours, I fear_."

"Why don't you shut up?" Mysterion glared at Damien's supervillain. "You're not so big, even with that mask, are you Bain?"

"_No one cared who I was before I put on the mask_," Bane's eyes were still looking up in the air like he didn't want to be here. The eyes lowered and locked onto Mysterion's. "_Let's not stand on ceremony here, Kenny McCormick_."

Michael said nothing as his mouth fell open, no words coming out of them. He had been about to speak but then Bane's words registered. "Wait, wait, wait, you're telling me that Mysterion, the asskicking vigilante is also…Kenny?"

"Zey are now just getting et," Christophe muttered.

"Oh my God, I never knew!" Uriel exclaimed. "I take back all the negative things I ever said about you!"

"To think I would learn his identity like this," Gabriel almost sobbed.

"We don't need this right now," Mysterion interrupted the fan gushing. "Michael, we're here for a reason, remember? The parley?"

"Oh, right!" Michael recalled exactly what was going. He easily overlooked his own unprofessionalism and reprimanded the other angels. "Gabriel! Uriel! Get it together!" Glaring back at the Antichrist, "Well Damien, it looks like our superhero is also our Keanu Reeves. You don't stand a chance!"

"My father would agree with you on that point but I've taken countermeasures," Damien replied. "If you will look to my far right, you will see my Anti-Keanu Reeves."

"There's an Anti-Keanu Reeves?" Uriel asked out loud while Michael followed Damien's silly instructions and found what looked like a government agent with sunglasses.

"We meet again, Mr. Anderson," Agent Smith drawled.

"Wow, they got Agent Smith!" Gary said. "Didn't he beat Keanu Reeves in Revolutions?"

"You've got to be kidding," Mysterion stared dumbly at the computer program brought to life.

"There is no place you can go that I won't find you, Mr. Anderson," Agent Smith stated.

"My name's Mysterion," Mysterion corrected.

"Mr. Anderson," Agent Smith stated again.

"I'm not Neo," Mysterion exclaimed.

"It doesn't matter what form you take, you will and forever will be Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson," Agent Smith declared. "I look forward to finishing this."

Michael could feel the unholy ground drop from underneath him. This was unprecedented! Unpredicted! Unforeseen! Why didn't God warn him about this! Some omnipotence—why did he feel like his existence was in danger all of a sudden?

"My bases are secured," Damien said, taking center stage once more. "How about you surrender? This was never about you in the first place."

"What does that mean?" Gary asked, his head tilting to a side curiously.

"It's none of your business," Damien stated imperiously. "I'll be generous this one time. Withdraw, pull back, surrender. Choose one of those and, as you said, we don't have to go through with this." As if to mock the Second Coming, he even mimicked Gary's voice for those last few words.

"That's was great!" Gary applauded the mimic before frowning in puzzlement. "Uh, don't those things all mean the same? The withdraw, pull back, and surrender choices?"

"What do you think?" Damien smirked.

"Hold on, they all mean the same so we don't have three choices, we have one," Michael mused out loud. Eyes widening, he declared, "Only one choice? It's a trap!"

"Please don't finish that thought," Mysterion groaned.

"We have to pull back! Send in the army!" Michael cried as he grabbed Gary and tried to drag him away.

"What! We can't do that!" Gary exclaimed. "Michael!"

"Fall back and send in the army!" Michael continued hysterically, flapping his wings to lift himself off the ground and taking Gary with him.

"Wait!" Gary cried.

"Damn it, this is falling apart," Mysterion said, watching with wide eyes.

"Go with them, Keanu Reeves," Damien said sarcastically. Looking towards Bane again, he waited for another line.

"_When Heaven is in ashes, then you have our permission to die_," Bane said, and Michael, overhearing these words came to another short-sighted conclusion.

Damien wasn't just trying to bring about the Apocalypse! He was trying to destroy Heaven, like his father before him! The devious little bastard! Over Michael's and an army's worth of angels' bodies!

They were fighting for more than humanity's sake this time. This time, they were fighting to save themselves from annihilation.

If Hell wanted war then they would get it.

* * *

Wolf opened his eyes, lips curving into a wicked smile.

"It begins."

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, I actually used lines from _The Dark Knight Rises_, a couple of which were changed slightly due to the story's circumstances. Really, it was only a matter time before I made Bain do a Bane impression. Had the idea for it ever since that UPS episode where all the husbands of South Park bought Bane masks off of Amazon and wore them while beating up the UPS man. So, further disclaimer: I do not own the character Bane or anything related to Christopher Nolan's _The Dark Knight Rises_. Might not be necessary but I'm covering my bases.


	16. This is What War is Good For

Author's Note: Now this was a chapter that didn't want to get written. This is my first time trying something like this, writing a war scene. At first, I had all these ideas…and ended up using them all in the first quarter of the chapter. Ended up making the rest of it up, with the exception of one scene that has absolutely nothing to do with war. It'll stand out. Anyway, I would like to give out some thanks to **Zephyr Morpheus Lee **for helping me out with what I like to call "The Gamer Scene." That, and she helped me out with moving this chapter along.

I would also like to say that another reason this chapter took so long was because I had other obligations, like a hard-ass test to take. Spent much of my free time studying for it and combine with the bit of writer's block that occurred, well, almost three weeks are gone. But better late than never, right? I've been doing a lot of stuff I haven't done before so it's been an interesting and challenging experience.

One more thing, due to the fact there are some bloody stuff in here, I want to ask if I show up the rating from T to M? Also, like I've done for previous stories, I have a poll up asking about who the most popular OC is. You have up to five choices so use them well. Well, without further ado, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, graphic violence, war

This is What War is Good For

The sounds of horns announced the call to advance and a veritable swarm of angels descended into the demonic hoards before them, fiery swords unsheathed and shields held in front. Like a wave, the first line of angelic warriors slammed into their beastly counterparts in a din of clanging metal and shrieking screams.

Holy swords pierced into demon chests, struck Hell-made shields and armor, and naturally sliced off a few heads here and there. Battle cries raged about, the younger angels more energetic and wild in their fighting styles while older and more experienced warriors conserved their strength while dealing blow after lethal blow.

Swords weren't the only offensive weapons being used. Spears stabbed with the force of experienced hands behind them, their holiness ripping through the unholiness of the demons' defenses. Arrows rained down at the heads of the demons, striking helmets or embedding into thick skulls. Here and there, well-built and study angels would swing axes, cleaving through the demon's front lines and those that were cut in half or at least sliced open were batted away. Last but not least, raw power was blasted from selected angels, detonating on impact and blowing various demons to pieces.

All this was occurring simultaneously and yet not even a dent was made in Hell's front lines.

From their outlook on the battle, Michael watched while Kenny/Mysterion settled himself down with the golden PSP in hand. Their fight had just started and once Kenny/Mysterion's commands were sent down to the front lines, they should have the advantage soon enough.

It still blew the archangel's mind that their Keanu Reeves, Kenny, was also the crime-fighting vigilante Mysterion. He had not seen that one coming.

"Play, Keanu Reeves," Michael intoned. "Show those unholy bastards who's boss."

Nearby, Michael sensed more than saw their Second Coming watching, discomforted but that was to be expected. Gary had yet to be truly bloodied but just you wait. War would harden this newly-minted Messiah and then there would truly be some asskicking to be had.

* * *

Far below the archangel and company's position, angel battled with demon. One angel wielding your basic sword and shield cut a path of death before him, his sword slicing off the arm of one demon then sliding itself between the armor plating of another demon, pulling out and then decapitating a demon blocking the angel's way. He was enjoying this, the rush and excitement that came with killing everything in your path and that which wouldn't respect your authorit—

The angel's rampage came to a quick end as he burrowed too deeply and greedily into the demon's lines and was cut down in the prime of his life, another unsung hero. All his skillz couldn't save him from a large, scarred demon with a massive cudgel in hand who crushed his head like it was a watermelon.

His avengement would have to wait so that the rest of his comrades could cut their way to his point of death. An angel with a longsword struggled with his demonic opponent due to the fact that he didn't have a lot of room to maneuver his weapon. The demon fighting him was taking advantage of that fact and using its much smaller short sword to whack at the twelve-foot sword that may or may not have resembled a certain video game character's weapon of choice.

How do you wield this thing? That guy with the long silvery hair made it look easy! Could he—no, he almost nicked a comrade. Well how about—no, tip of his sword was sticking into the unholy earth. Um, what about—oohs, sword in his throat. And he hadn't even done his part at slaying these demonic bastards.

God…damn…it…

"Come on men!" a deep voiced angel waving a double-sided axe rallied the angelic troops. "Let's send these bastards back to Hell!" And in a gesture of bravery, as well as stupidity, he practically belly-flopped into the demonic hoard. The blade of his axe smashed into an unlucky demon's head and that was one down. Quickly prying the large weapon out, the stout angel swung the axe about him, viciously cutting down any demon that happened to be too close by.

"Kill-tactular, bitches!"

Taking heart from his comrade's brave yet stupid stunt, another angel with your standard sword and shield tried to be a hero. Because he was nameless and had no unique weapon on hand, he was slaughtered immediately.

The instructions for a volley came to the angelic archers, their Keanu Reeves giving their orders through the golden PSP. Arrows he had commanded for and arrows he shall receive. The air was clouded with a mass of arrows, some demons killed, others taking a few before falling, while others were merely wounded.

That gave the close-combat warriors the opportunity to strike them down, making it one less demon to fight. Or in this case several.

"We're kicking their asses! Full speed ahead!" the angel with the axe declared and led the charge deeper into the demonic army.

* * *

From his vantage point, Damien watched the battle, not in the least bit intimidated at the angels' offensive. He had expected there to be losses and besides, it wasn't as if all the demons were permanently gone. By tomorrow, they'd all be back in Hell. Where did you think they would go? Detroit?

But if the army was defeated because every single demon was slain, then it wouldn't matter if tomorrow came. Damien suspected that any angel that fell in battle would show back up in Heaven the following day anyway. Whether that was today or tomorrow, he did not know as this was just a theory but nevertheless, getting back on track, he needed to win this one.

A loss this early would hurt more than all the lives spent.

"So what's your strategy?" Charlie asked beside him, looking very uncomfortable with only that bra on her torso. Well, if you counted the spikes there were sticking out from where her tits were…

"Relax Charlie," Damien said. "Heaven may think its winning now but we outnumber them a hundred to one. Right now, we'll lure them into a false sense of security then bring in the Spartans. They did dine in Hell after all."

"You mean…you're actually talking about actual Spartans?" Charlie gave him a look. "The real deal?"

"Zat ought to be intereszing," Christophe chuckled. "But what about in ze meantime? You don't want to take too many losses."

"If you're so worried about it, fine," Damien said. "Demonius, give the order."

"Zazul, give the order," Demonius ordered.

"Catapults!" Zazul ordered.

Overhead, large, flaming, molten rocks were launched at the angelic force, making visible splotches in the largely white-colored army.

"Now zey look like a tampon after a girl's period," Christophe commented in delight.

"How would you know what a tampon looks like after a girl's period?" Charlie asked, looking at the French mercenary queerly.

"I 'appen to see zem in ze wastebasket in ze bathroom," Christophe shrugged. "Is zat a crime?"

Before Charlie responded, Damien spoke up. "You better not say anything if it's not from _The Dark Knight Rises_."

Still at Charlie's side and wearing the Bane mask, Bain glared at Damien, remaining quiet for a moment before slumping and muttering, "_The fire rises_."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Charlie stated more than asked.

"Unbelievably," Damien answered.

* * *

"They're launching catapults!" Michael exclaimed. He winced as some of his fellow angels were crushed under the initial impacts while others had the ill fates to be get struck by the following bounce and the crushing roll. There were also the flames and who knew that angel wings were that flammable?

He could hear the cries of, "It's over me! It's all over me! Put it out!"

"What's your strategy, Keanu Reeves?" Michael demanded, turning away from the battle to face Mysterion…or should he call him Kenny?

Like most gamers who were in "the zone," Kenny…or was it Mysterion…ignored him.

"Right, need to focus on the battle," Michael grunted.

* * *

"We can't let these angel scum show us up! Charge!"

Despite the minimal gains the Heaven had achieved, the demons weren't about to let themselves be cannon fodder without forcing their adversaries to pay in blood for it. Rallying, the demons surged into the angels' front lines and began to exact their price.

With a spiked club, one demon was bashing angel heads left and right, dazing some while a lucky blow here and there sent angel brains splattering all over the place.

Mmm, angel brains…

This demon did some damage before an angel's fiery sword cut him down but he was avenged by the demon behind him, a particularly large demon wielding a cudgel. He struck the previous demon's slayer down and made good on his advance to crush any unfortunate angel that got in his way.

Behind him, other smaller demons were picking off those that had managed to survive their war buddies' onslaught. Smaller and much ganglier, they threw their lithe bodies at angelic survivors and tore their teeth through holy flesh, ripping out throats to the tune of painful screams. One of these spidery demons got brave and launched himself at an uninjured angel warrior but his inferiority was proved when the angel he attacked sliced him in half, blood spewing out in different directions from either end of his severed torso.

One armored demon wielded no weapon other than the armor on his body. He would smash a gauntlet-covered fist into an angel's face then tear off said angel's head. Then he would grabbed the head of another nearby angel and bash that one's face into an armor-covered knee, doing so continuously until he cracked opened the angel's cranium like an egg.

The claws on his fingers would slash into throats and powerful punches would break through holy breastplates and grasp angel hearts, tearing the holy organs out and discarding them to his fellow demons.

"Hey…that's mine…" one angel said as his beating heart was torn out and tossed away.

Not anymore it wasn't—

That thought proved too distracting as a fiery sword decapitated him.

The offending angel smirked, thinking that he had killed that demon like a boss when his thought train came to a violet end at the end of a certain cudgel. The cudgel wielding demon had taken some cuts but they weren't disabling wounds. He had had worse from paper cuts! So far, his skill was unmatched by the angelic forces and he snorted in derision as one angel clumsily tried to attack him from behind. Asshole was so obvious that the cudgel-wielding demon didn't even need to see him.

Dodging the holy blade was easy and a mighty swing of his cudgel crushed that angel but only after tearing through a couple other angels first. He swung so hard that it didn't matter that his weapon was blunt. He jumped back as an angel's spear stabbed at him from a side and he grabbed the shaft of the spear, holding it there while smashing the head of his cudgel into the spear-wielding angel.

Should have yelled fore as the angel was up, up, and away.

The ranks parted and the cudgel-wielding demon paused at what looked like a much more experienced angel approached, standard sword and shield combo at the ready. If the blessed asshole wanted a fight, far be it from him to provide it.

Hefting his cudgel up with practiced ease, the demon swung his weapon at the challenging angel who merely ducked. Still couched, the angel practically glided against the ground, closing the distance between the two combatants in little to no time. The demon, however, was not one to allow such a maneuver to beat him and reversed the swung of his cudgel in an almost unnatural way. The angel, probably sensing the incoming attack, braced his shield and dug his heel into the ground as the force propelling the cudgel shoved him to a side.

Out was the sword, striking the cudgel away and a lunge at the demon almost had the unholy beast slain. Again, this demon would not be struck down so easily as the cudgel was used for defense. The blade of the sword struck the shaft of the cudgel, the sharp edge shrieking against the metal weapon as metal rubbed against metal.

Thanks to how much smaller the sword was, the angel withdrew the blade but struck again. The demon moved his cudgel to block and this repeated a few times. Clangs littered the air as the sword struck again and again only to meet the cudgel's shaft and go no further.

The demon took a step backwards after the latest blow, pulling his cudgel back with him until it was parallel with the ground but perpendicular to his body. With a grunt, the demon lunged his weapon forth like a battering ram, the angel using his shield to block. There was a loud clang and the angel grimaced at the noticeably dent in his shield. The demon chuckled and pressed on, bringing the cudgel back then ramming it forward again.

The shield was dented further and one particular blow hit an edge instead of a center. Due to the damage thus far, a chunk of the shield was torn off. The angel removed the shield and chunked it at the demon, the demon parrying it with a wave of his cudgel.

The shield was a distraction, though, and the angel was plunging his sword into the demon's gut. An angelic arm grasped at the arm that demon held his cudgel in, hoping to stall a potentially fatal swing. The demon snarled in the angel's face, grasping the angelic warrior by his breastplate and bringing him close. If he had to, the demon would chew this bastard's face off. It was going to take more than a flesh wound in his stomach to stop him!

The angel jerked his sword, sending a jolt of pain throughout the demon's body, his grip weakening as a result. The angel tore himself away, pulling the sword out and swinging it as soon as he did. The holy weapon cleaved through the demon's neck and that ended this juggernaut's reign.

* * *

"Zo, 'ow long are we waiting?" Christophe asked as the group watched the forces of Heaven eat through their front lines.

Damien hmm'd and turned to Agent Smith. "What is your better half doing?"

"He is using some of his reserves to come at us from either side in a pincer maneuver," Agent Smith reported, not taking his eyes off the golden Nintendo DS.

"What do you recommend doing?" Damien asked.

"Stop wasting time with the cannon fodder and bring in the bulk of the army," Agent Smith said. "Place several forces here," he leaned forward, angling the DS so that Damien could see it, "here, here, and here. We'll do a reverse pincer maneuver on both of his pincers. From there, it's a war of attrition and we have the numbers on our side."

"Anybody have any arguments against?" Damien asked the rest of his group. When no one said anything, the most being a shrug, "Very well. Send out the Spartans."

* * *

Word passed through the demon ranks until it reached the front lines. Those demons who were practically face to face with their enemies back off, confusing the angels who paused in their assault. What were those unholy bastards up to?

Emerging through the vast numbers of demons, muscular yet…very dead looking…humans? Were they humans? It was hard to tell from how decayed their skin looked. All they had were spears and very large shields. The only piece of armor they had other than that were their helmets. What was this? These strange individuals took up bracing stances and raised their shields before them, forming a wall of metal.

"They're retreating men! Press on!" an angel exclaimed, raising a cheer as the angel hoard pressed their advantages, heading straight for these almost bare naked men.

And then their charge stopped.

There was no grinding to a halt. No slowing down. Just…stopping.

"Hey, it's hard trying to hit these guys around their shields!" one angel remarked.

Then, a loud voice cried out, striking fear into those angels who could hear it over the cacophony of war. "SPARTANS! TONIGHT WE DINE IN HELL!"

The shields bashed forward and many an angel were slain by the spears that stabbed from between the shields. The wall of shields advance two steps and settled, waiting for the next angel assault. The angels did not disappoint and charged forward only to stop in their tracks and have spears disembowel them.

Rinse and repeat.

"What's going on!" an angel cried out. "Why can't we move forward?"

"By God," one angel swore, finally recalling _300_. "They're Spartans!"

"Oh no, not Spartans!" another angel exclaimed.

"Give them a volley! Darken these skies with arrows!" an angel ordered.

The angels' frontline pulled back, allowing the archers all the room their needed to fire holy arrow after holy arrow at the line of Spartans before them. Of course, holy arrows were most effective against demons and the like. How would they fare against undead…or dead, take your pick, humans?

About the same as normal humans if the damn things would only pierce some flesh! The Spartans crouched down and held their shields diagonally to the ground. Any and all arrows fired either fell short, missed, or hit these shields but made no noticeable dent in the formation.

_Come on Keanu Reeves_, many of the angels prayed. _Use that strategic mind of yours to get us out of this!_

* * *

"By…God," Michael gasped. "They…they're using Spartans! But…but that's not faaaair!"

"Shut up," Mysterion, or was it Kenny, grunted. "I'm doing my best here but it's been a while since I last played this kind of game."

"Do something Keanu Reeves!" Michael exclaimed.

"I am," he snapped back. "I'm about to fuck them up with a good old pincer maneuver, attack them from multiple sides."

"See? He has this under control," Gary comforted the archangel. "We just need to trust him."

"You're right. You're right," Michael exhaled, trying to calm himself. "I just have to have faith that God chose wisely. He's never been wrong before!"

"Huh," Mysterion grunted.

"Huh…what?" Michael asked, not liking the sound of that.

"They are countering my pincer maneuver with a reverse pincer maneuver," Mysterion or Kenny said calmly as if he wasn't talking about the death of hundreds. "The left pincer was been decimated but the right managed to get deep and now it's like some kind of bulge is happening."

"Like the Battle of the Bulge from World War II?" Gary asked.

"Yeah, like that," Mysterion answered. "Someone is predicting my moves. Either that or there's a spy in your ranks."

A few feet away, that one angel who was in charge of communication and Michael had a hard time remembering his name stiffened. It began with an O…

"Can't be a spy otherwise someone would have noticed them communicating with Damien," Mysterion added.

"What about that Anti-Keanu Reeves?" Gary asked.

"Of course! Now it makes sense why this isn't going the way it was supposed to!" Michael exclaimed. "The Anti-Keanu Reeves is countering every move our Keanu Reeves makes, neutralizing him! Why didn't I think of this before?"

"So what do we do? Do I go down there?" Gary asked.

"Not yet, Second Coming. We need to use you when we're on the brink of defeat and I don't see that we are on the brink of defeat," Michael stated. Glancing at the battle, he added, "But we're pretty close. Keanu Reeves! You must do something!"

"I am!" Mysterion growled. "Just shut up and let me do this!"

"Okay, okay, you don't have to bite my head off, geez," Michael held his hands up in mock surrender.

* * *

Cartman gripped the rim of the steering wheel tightly, taking in a deep breath to calm himself. Was this what it felt like to be on the cusp of greatness? He wouldn't say he was nervous but he would admit that he was trying to soak up every single second of this.

He was about to become a hero. He was going to show all those assholes that Eric Theodore Cartman was not only Heaven material but that they should have left this all to him in the first place. He was going to show them all how awesome he was.

Yep, he had this moment etched into his memory. Now it was time to do the dirty deed and write himself into history.

He opened the door to his shitty pickup and got out, slamming it behind him as he circled around his truck to the passenger side. Opening the door on that side, he gathered the few things he had on the passenger seat, grunting with the weight of one of them. Closing that door but not bothering to lock the vehicle, Cartman waddled down the alleyway and towards the entrance to Black Market.

He paused for a moment to admire the motorcycle he found parked nearby, telling himself that he would be able to get a million of those things soon enough once he was rich to compensate for his noble deeds. Not bothering to knock, he placed the heaviest of his "equipment" down and checked to see if it was unlocked.

It was.

With a smirk, Cartman began to place a few of his "weapons" around his body, doing his best to make sure they were visible before raising a foot up and kicking the door.

Damn it, the door didn't open for him, even though it was unlocked. Now his Goddamn foot hurt and the door was still standing there. What the hell? Fucking metal door not respecting his authoritah!

Opening the door, Cartman picked up the most important and by far the heaviest "weapon" he had brought with him and somewhat limped into Black Market.

Making his way into Wolf's capitalistic lair, and admiring some of the cheap prices he saw, Cartman searched for any sign of his prey. The clicking of a gun caused him to freeze.

"What the hell are you doing here and without saying your password?" the black asshole clerk Jay demanded, the plumber dead in his sights. Recalling that he had tried and failed to make a dramatic entrance earlier, Cartman tried to chuckle and talk his way out of this unforeseen obstacle.

Really, he should have expected Jay to be here since he watched the black asshole drive that damn motorcycle in the first place.

"Hey, uh, I was looking around. That's what I'm doing! I'm doing some window shopping! Might buy something anyway," Cartman did his best not to trip on his own words.

"Then why didn't you knock?" Jay narrowed his eyes at him. Must've thought he was the shit or something.

"Door was open?" Cartman said the first thing that came to mind.

"You should have knocked anyway," Jay stated. "Hey Wolf! You got another sucker—I mean customer!"

What was that supposed to mean? Don't look away from him you black asshole! What, he wasn't dangerous enough or something?

"Always have crappy timing," Wolf muttered as he emerged. "Sorry, there was something on the…television. Yeah. Pretty exciting. What can I do for you?"

"Uh, you mind coming a little closer?" Cartman asked. "I kinda injured my foot earlier."

Grumbling, Wolf came closer while Jay watched like he was some cool guy. The gun was still in sight but it wasn't pointed at the plumber anymore which was a definite improvement.

Wolf gave Cartman the fakest smile he had ever seen, and yes he did know what a fake smile looked like, he did them all the time, and asked, "How may I help you loyal customer?" Dark eyes flickered downward and Wolf looked genuinely confused. "Is that a bucket of water? We don't have fish in this location."

"Oh, it may look like water but I assure you, it's anything but," Cartman grinned at the businessman. "You see, I'm on to your little scheme Wolf. I know how you're setting up Heaven and Hell and hoping to come out on top. I know you're trying to get the Book of Nemesis."

"Whatever do you mean?" Wolf said and much to Cartman disgruntlement, he didn't look ruffled. "You have such a creative imagination."

"Oh yeah? Well…well at least it's better than being an aborted Satanic fetus!" Cartman retorted.

Wolf's response was predictable. "La la la la!"

"How…?" Jay gaped at him.

"I'm not some redneck hick you find on the corner, jackasses!" Cartman crowed. "That's why I'm going to stop you!"

Lowering his fingers from his ears, Wolf frowned at Cartman. Raising a hand up to tell Jay to remain at ease, as if he wasn't _threatened_ by Cartman knowing of his plans, the asshole, he asked, "And how do you propose you'll do that?"

"Ahem, you didn't notice all the crosses I'm wearing?" Cartman coughed, glaring at the aborted fetus—er aborted Satanic fetus.

"So you are. Huh." Wolf looked him up and down but didn't look the least bit impressed.

"I'm wearing garlic," Cartman added, annoyance entering his voice.

"And?"

"I have a bible in my pocket."

"Uh huh."

"And a bucket full of holy water."

"Yeah, yeah…what?"

Now there was the reaction Cartman was looking for! Wolf looked a bit shaken at the sound of holy water and the plumber decided to take full advantage of it.

"God bless you asshole and go to Hell!" Cartman roared as he griped his bucket and splashed its contents all over Wolf.

An inhuman shriek escaped Wolf's mouth as he backed away, his clothes soaked in the blessed liquid and small trails of smoke hissing from his drenched body. Take that demonic fucker! Maybe this time you will stay aborted!

Wolf fell to a knee, back curved as more and more smoked hissed off of him. Bellows of pain snarled from his mouth as his skin changed into an interesting shade of purple. Wolf's pain-wracked voice took a deeper tone as he began to bulge, slowing growing in size.

Cool, he was about to implode…or was it explode? Cartman sometimes got the two mixed up.

Wolf's clothes ripped into shreds as large spines burst from his elbows, two-toed feet burst out of once fancy shoes, his purple skin began to gain a scaly quality to them, and where his mouth was began to elongate into what looked like a snout. A once thin body fattened with steel hard muscles, smaller spines grew from the sides of his face and angled towards the back of his head while he continued to grow in size. A large, clawed hand settled on the floor before the sharp nails dug into the concrete and created small furrows into them.

Wolf was breathing, deep and hard, but he didn't look like he was about to explode anymore.

What just happened?

Apparently, Wolf also had the same question as small, beady eyes opened and took in his new form. "What? But how…?" his now much deeper voice boomed. As if detecting a small trace of the holy water that was left over, Wolf took a deep whiff of it. His large body began to rumble with suppressed laughter.

"What the fuck is…?" Jay asked from where he stood, gun in hand but unsure of where to aim it.

"I can't believe this!" Wolf howled in amusement. "This isn't holy water! This is _unholy_ water! That explains it!"

"No it doesn't!" Cartman exclaimed. "That was holy water when I got it!"

Wolf's reptilian hand grabbed Cartman by his throat and he was easily lifted off the floor. Ha! What'd he tell you! He wasn't Goddamn fat! How could this freak of nature pick him up if he was fat? He'd take more pleasure in this but right now he felt like he was choking. Wolf, meanwhile, sniffed him and the plumber wondered if maybe he was gay. He was coming on to him pretty strong…

"And that explains that. You such a corrupted lifeform that your very presence corrupted the holy water," Wolf said as he tossed Cartman away. For anyone else, it would be tossed but Cartman felt he was thrown when his back slammed into a wall close to the entrance. "That's no surprise. The fat bastard is practically evil incarnate. Every holy thing he touches would lose its power, maybe even turn it into a weapon of unholiness like that holy water. This is rich!"

Oh God his body hurt…

"This is some fucked up shit," Jay said, continuing to gape though his grip on his gun tightened.

"Put that thing away; it is beyond hurting me now," Wolf reprimanded his store clerk. "I've never felt like this before. Powerful. Strong. Hoo hoo, I'd love to see Damien's face when he sees this."

"We're still cool, right?" Jay asked.

Cartman struggled to keep from making a sound at this point. His glorious plan had backfired immensely. And it was bullshit! However, he didn't want to remind these guys that he was still here.

"I still have use for you and we have that deal," Wolf replied. Checking his new body out, he grumbled, "Damn it, I need a new suit. These things are so expensive."

"Yeah…so what's the plan now?" Jay asked, gun lowered but not holstered.

"Nothing changes. We continue as planned," Wolf stated as he headed over to the backroom. His heavy footsteps boomed with each fall and some merchandise was offset by it. "We let Heaven and Hell fight one another until one has defeated the other. The winner, who is weakened by the effort, will be easy pickings when we step in and take the winner out."

"Kinda like James Bond?" Jay asked.

"No, not like James Bond!" Wolf exclaimed, glaring at his employee.

"It sure sounds like James Bond. At least the older stuff," Jay said. "There was that one group that was trying to pit the U.S. and Russia against one another. SPECTRE or something. You sound like the bald guy that was the leader of that group."

"I'm way more cooler than some bald guy with a cat, thank you very much!" Wolf snorted.

By now, Cartman had managed to slip away, his aching body slowing him down a bit but hopefully those two assholes would not remember him until he was long gone.

"My plan's original! Are you laughing? Don't you laugh at me or I'll pop that head of yours off your shoulders. Don't aim that thing at me!"

* * *

Charlie bit her lip, watching the carnage before her. So far, everything seemed to be going their way. Their defenses were holding and they were pushing back their heavenly attackers. There was good reason to be confident.

Yet Charlie couldn't join in. She felt that things were going too well and when things were too well, it got turned upside its head. It was just a matter of when rather than if. She would've expressed a worry or two with Bain but at the moment, Bain could only say lines from _The Dark Knight Rises_. It would be a rather awkward conversation to say the least.

"Say, don't you think we should pull back a bit?" she voiced out loud. "If we keep pushing them back, eventually our forces might extend too far."

"That sounds more defensive than offensive," Damien remarked.

"Well, we are defending the Gates of Hell or one of them at least," Charlie said. "We'll win a battle of attrition, yeah, but what if we get too far into angel territory? Doesn't sound right but this is a battlefield and one part of it belongs to the angels. What if they have some tricks of their own we haven't seen?"

"Haven't they already proven how short-sighted they are?" Damien replied with a question. "They assumed that victory was theirs like it was a matter of marching. I doubt they brought their big guns with them."

"Oh, so you're a military expert, huh?" Charlie grunted. A breeze chilled her and she shivered, rubbing her arms to try and put some warmth into them. Beside her, Bain rolled his eyes and slipped his trenchcoat off, placing it on her shoulders. Heh, he could be sweet at the weirdest of times.

"_Of course,_" Bain said though the line was corrupted with sarcasm.

"Charlie does 'ave a point," Christophe pointed out.

"Since when did you lose your balls?" Damien retorted, eyeing the mercenary. The breeze picked up a bit.

Noticing something beyond the army of angels, Christophe said, "When I saw zat."

The wind was starting to pick up and towering somewhat above the enemy forces was what looking like a large siege engine. Though what siege engine looked like a giant white pillar escaped the collective of Hell's army's commanders, there seemed to be whirlwind wrapping around the thing as it began to glow.

A sharp laser beam, if that's what it could be called, zapped from the very top of the pillar and carved a line of death into Hell's forces. More blasts of holy energy came from several others of these pillars that seemed to be backing up the angelic army. Where they had come from with none of them noticing was anyone's guess.

"So? What's your plan?" Charlie asked casually.

* * *

"Right in the nick of time," Michael breathed a sigh of relief. "Good thinking bringing those obelisks, Uriel. Mysterion-Kenny is making good use of them."

"Well, if you had listened to me, we could have had the big guns as well," Uriel replied.

"There's no need to be at each other's throats. The war's over there," Gary intervened.

"The Second Coming is right. We can fight each other when the enemies right in front of us are defeated," Michael nodded. "Friends?"

"Friends," Uriel agreed as the two angels engaged in a bro-hug. There was absolutely nothing homo about it.

"If you're done with your rad bromance, can you keep it down over there?" Mysterion said, not looking up from the golden PSP. "I need the concentrate. The battle is far from over."

"Of course, Mysterion-Kenny," Michael said.

"Give them hell!" Uriel cheered.

* * *

The demons were uneasy as the angels' weapons slowly approached their front lines. Blasts of holy power were decimating their ranks and slaughtering Spartans while the angels were backing up, hiding behind their colossal weapons. Those angels who weren't quick enough pulling back were slain but it made very little difference when the offended demons were literally blasted back to Hell.

From behind the Walls, the catapults launched more of their fiery ammunition, the molten boulders striking against the heavenly weapons but shattering to pieces. Their remains fell back towards the demons, causing more harm to them than their enemies.

"Damn it, this isn't working!" Demonius cried. "We have to stop those things before they reach the Walls and the Gate!"

"I'm thinking!" Damien grumbled, glaring at the energized pillars but his mind was drawing up a blank. The catapults were proving ineffective and the Antichrist was sure that no single sword would be any more effective. There was also the fact that demons were naturally weak to anything of a holy nature, i.e. having to do with God, and if those things didn't have the word "holy" written on them somewhere, then he couldn't say what did.

"I do not have any equipment or resources that can take those things out," Agent Smith reported from his seat. "I will delay as much as I can."

"Stupid Anti-Keanu Reeves not being able to take out…whatever those things are," Damien growled.

"Well, it should be obvious that we have to do something about those things," Charlie said.

"Yes, yes, be more obvious why don't you?" Damien snapped at her.

"Hey, it looks like you need all the help you can get," Charlie reprimanded.

"I believe you 'ave a plan, _oui_?" Christophe asked.

"An inkling of one. It's not really thought out yet," Charlie admitted.

"Explain it and we can debate ze merits of it," Christophe said. "Unless your wheezle has anyzing to add?"

Bain glared but said nothing. Well, nothing that _The Dark Knight Rises_ Bane would have said.

"It's kinda stupid but if we can take out one of those pillar things at the end but make it fall into the one beside it, maybe it'll have a domino effect," Charlie said.

"Unorthodox but it might work," Demonius said. "Of course, how would you plan to enact it? The amount of holy power those things are generating would incinerate any demon that gets near them."

"Then we send people who aren't demons," Charlie said. Why was Bain glaring at her now?

"Well," Damien chuckled. "We have three non-demons right here that aren't doing anything."

Oh. Now she got it. Well. What could she say that she could argue against that point?

"I would be more than willing to handle it myself," Agent Smith began.

"No, you stay put," Damien ordered. "Charlie. You go and put this plan of yours to work. I don't have anything else better that we could do so we'll go with yours."

"Me? Why me?" Charlie demanded then inexplicably changed her mind when she got Demonius' pleading face. "Che! Fine, whatever."

"Sounds like I get to go to work," Christophe chuckled as he cracked his knuckles. Seeing the look she was giving him, he added, "What? You're going to go all alone? _Non_, I still need to show God how much of a pussy 'e is wiz sending such amateurs at us." His brown eyes trailed over to Bain. "'ow about we take ze militant anarchist wiz us?"

And now Bain was glaring at Christophe again.

"Eh, more hands the better," Charlie shrugged, not arguing with Christophe's suggestion.

"_I will break you_," Bain threatened the mercenary.

"We shall see," Christophe replied as he heartily slapped Bain's back, the smaller male stumbling forward, eyes wide in shock. "So, what's ze plan?"

* * *

Mysterion lifted a hand up and wiped his forehead. Okay, now it was time to get serious. He may have been a bit out of practice but he was getting back in the hang of things. Thanks to Uriel being a weapon-nut, they now had the advantage on the battlefield. Now it was just pressing that advantage.

"Okay Agent Smith, how would you like a taste of holy neutron blasts?"

From his seat on the other side of the battlefield, Agent Smith barely let the traces of a frown mar his face.

"Depending on your oversized toys Mr. Anderson? This battle is far from over. Superior tactics always triumphs over technology."

"Interesting formation. But it's weak on the left side. I'll send my level 89 angel warriors with holy metal armor +5 and flaming demi-god swords to intercept," Mysterion muttered, fingers tapping on the PSP.

"You should know better than to send flying enemies, Mr. Anderson. My anti-flying angel missiles will take them down," Agent Smith commented, sounding as if he was talking about the weather.

"Crud. That was a bad idea. Get it together Mysterion! Damn it! He's flanking me!"

"Send in the demon trolls," Agent Smith ordered, not sounding in the least bit ridiculous.

"Fuck, he's got demon trolls! Obelisk blast, bitch!" Mysterion swore.

"Is that how it's going to be Mr. Anderson? Replace molten rock catapult ammo with radioactive sludge balls. I'm about to go Fukushima on your ass Mr. Anderson."

"What the hell are those? Oh my God, they're melting my level 60 angelic cannon fodder! And my blast range can't reach those Goddamn catapults!"

"It's super-effective," Agent Smith stated dully.

"Is that how you want to play Agent Smith? Mutually assured destruction? Not on my watch you don't. Damn it, stop dying you idiots!" Kenny snarled, glaring furiously at the PSP screen.

"Now to bring in my cavalry. For your sake, Mr. Anderson, I hope you remember medieval combat."

"Where the hell did they come from? Crap, they're attacking my flank! Oh I see, you're bringing in your player-killer cavalry. Well two can play at that—I don't have a fucking cavalry. Why the fuck don't I have a fucking cavalry? This is bullshit!"

"Cheap move with your super weapon, Mr. Anderson."

"I don't care what I have to do, I will PWN your ass!"

"Remote mines."

"Fuck! Where did those things come from? Gotta keep my obelisks out of there."

"Give them a volley," Agent Smith ordered.

"Fucking arrows. Take this!" Kenny was now screaming at the portable electronic device.

"Your holy arrows are a menace. You, you, and you, sacrifice yourselves in the name of Satan and take as many of those angel drones with you."

"What's this? You think I'm going to take that like a bitch? Kill those fuckers. Eh! Eh! Eh! One! Why aren't you killing the other two? Kill those fuckers! Ah! Ah! Pwn motherfucker!" Kenny was adding grunts and growls into his speech now.

"They're lasting longer than…oh. They're dead. Never mind," Agent Smith said, not in the least bit concerned.

"Kamikaze bitch!"

"Angels are dedicated, I'll give them that. Why aren't you killing them?" Now Agent Smith was beginning to lose a bit of his cool.

"How ya like me now, Agent Smith? Fucking got your number. Blast those suckers!" Kenny crowed.

"Where is that strike team? Other cavalry. Right flank. Take as many of those…"

"Thought the same trick was gonna work on me, eh? Capped those suckers with a holy neutron blast!"

"God damn it. Why are you letting them push you around? We have the numbers! Do I need to hold your hands like a five year old and show you how to kill angels?" Agent Smith snarled.

"Magnificent bastard. Read your book! Always wanted to say that," Kenny chuckled.

"Catapults! Use the napalm!"

"What the fuck is this shit? They're burning? Are you using napalm against me? Fucking napalm? Against _me_? You unholy son of a bitch! How fucking _dare_ you use napalm against me? Fuck they're burning and they won't stop! Why are you burning? Stop burning you holy bastards!"

"That should buy me some time to regroup. You're quite the adversary Mr. Anderson."

"Oh, this is on! This is so on! I'm gonna…gonna…" Kenny trailed off as he noticed all the looks he was receiving. "What are you looking at?" Wait a second, his voice didn't sound right…oh! Oh! He was out of character! He was speaking with his normal voice and not his Mysterion voice! God, he was so into this game…well, maybe game was not the best word to use.

"Sorry," he said in his gruff, dark vigilante voice. "I…lose myself sometimes."

"It's alright. Kyra says worse," Gary shrugged, seemingly the least bothered by his verbal display.

* * *

From a somewhat safe distance away from the battle, a small non-descript door with the words EMPLOYEE ENTRANCE ONLY on it opened. Peeking out, Charlie checked left and right, making sure the coast was clear before emerging from the undiscovered breach in Hell's defenses.

Government regulations, apparently, was the reason for this door's existence.

"Okay, you guys ready?" Charlie asked.

"Do you need to ask?" Christophe reported, various kinds of "Made in Hell" explosives strapped to him. "I do zis all ze time. Ze same, I am sure, cannot be said about…'im."

Bain was still in his dark mood and it was a wonder, Charlie thought, that he hadn't killed anyone yet. The keyword being yet.

"It would be a bad time to screw up," she told both of them, trying not to single out anybody. "Let's get this over with."

"It's seemple. Sabotage an' knock o'er one of zose pillar zings. Easy," Christophe said boastfully.

"_You fight like young man. Admirable but misguided_," Bain said, eyeing Christophe, adjusting the unholy explosives that were also strapped to his body.

"You know, you don't have to speak like that," Charlie said.

All Bain did was point at the mask and Charlie had a feeling that there was more to that mask than novelty. She wouldn't be surprised if everything Bain said would have to be quotes at this point. Whatever, time to get busy.

"In and out and they shouldn't miss us," Charlie said.

"By zat, you mean zey wouldn't see us long enough to actually miss us," Christophe said.

"All goes well, they won't know we were there. Let's do it," Charlie said and she darted towards the nearest pillar.

Christophe was right behind her, keeping up easy. She was not at all surprised by that. He had been doing this kind of work for years, stretching all the way back to when he was a kid. He was in peak physical condition. Trailing behind them, the gap slowly widening between them, Bain struggled to keep up with all the added weight placed on him.

Thanks to her skimpy outfit, and no matter what Satan said it was skimpy, Charlie didn't have to have any explosives on her. A perk that made it easier for her to keep barely ahead of Christophe. While not completely in shape as he was, she was still fit. She just…she just hadn't been as aggressive in pursuing her usual training regiment, something she had come up with herself while running away from her homicidal older brother.

Survival was a great motivator and life the best teacher you could ever have.

Still, she was going to have to recommit herself to the exercise regimen. If relaxing on it as much as she had degraded her skills this much, then she was going to have to do something about it.

The closer she drew to the battling armies, the more she began to crouch closer to the ground, slowing her pace down but making her approach less noticeable. Like a jungle cat on the prowl, she stalked her way forth, not even having to look behind her to know that Christophe was doing the same. Coming to a sudden stop, Charlie waited a moment before reaching out and jerking Bain down when he caught up. He was supposed to be some kind of predator yet he was being this obvious in his approach? She was going to have to give him pointers.

"Are you dense?" she hissed. "They're going to see you a mile away if you're going to be that obvious." Bain shot her yet another glare which she promptly ignored. Glancing at the angel side of the battlefield, she was relieved that none of them were looking in their direction but their chances of being spotted were growing with each step they took.

"Perhaps zey won't see 'im because 'e's so short," Christophe suggested.

Charlie had to intervene when Winslow came out, catching Bain by the wrist of his knife-wielding arm. Christophe just gave an indulgent look in reply to Bain's blood-letting glower. "Stop it, both of you! Get killed on your own time. Not mine," Charlie reprimanded them.

"So zen, what is your plan?" Christophe asked, breaking it off with Bain. "Continue to sneak? We might 'ave to leave ze wheezle behind."

"I'm making this up as I go," Charlie said, ignoring the snort from Bain. "I'd ask him but unless we have some nuclear bomb and a way to create a no man's land, I don't think that mask will allow him to come up with anything useful. Now use your eyes, Mole, and see where on that damn thing we can place our gifts."

"Ze base?" Christophe suggested.

"Where on ze base?" Charlie asked, unconsciously mimicking his accent for a moment.

"We'll have to get closer," Christophe answered.

"Right. Follow me and keep up," Charlie ordered as she took the lead again.

Charlie's heart thundered within her chest as she got closer and closer to the fighting forces. Any second, she could feel that one side or the other might spot them and try to strike them down. God help any of the demons who did that because Satan would show no mercy. The angels on the other hand…ehh, best not to think about that.

A large, boulder-esque rock provided some cover and gave them a much better view of the pillar's base and whoa! She could feel the power as the oversized weapon fired another one of those blasts, the winds sweeping over the land. The powerful shockwaves hummed under the earth beneath her and she clenched her teeth tightly as she balled her fists tighter. The sounds of swords clanging against one another and the more wet ones of blood being shed was like a cacophony that bombarded her psyche.

For a moment, she wondered if her father ever had to see something like this. Well, maybe not something like this precisely but similar. Her father was a stronger person than she was, she supposed but she wasn't about to let a shortcoming stop her.

"Look," Christophe pointed out. The very base of the pillar had a series of wheels on either side that allowed it to be moved easily as well as some mechanized contraption that served as some kind of engine. Engines were more Stella's thing than hers though. "Zere's some space beneath it. If we can geet under it an' between ze wheels, we can plant ze explosives zere."

"If we can get under it," Charlie thought aloud, not looking at her childhood partner in crime, "then we can hide under it. Any thoughts on how we can do that without being spotted?"

"A distraction? If zey see us," Christophe said.

Bain patted her on the shoulder. "What?" she said, not looking at the sociopathic maniac. Bain, of course, didn't reply, but his hand did go down and she could feel it near her lower back—and now was not the time for this kind of shit! "What are you—?" Charlie hissed as she batted his hand away, pausing when she felt something odd. There was something that was attached to her that she hadn't noticed. But this outfit was so skimpy! What could possibly be…?

Grasping what felt like a handle, she pulled out an impossibly large feathered fan that could not physically be possible to have not been seen beforehand. There was something not right about this. How had…?

"Zere's an idea," Christophe said. "Fan dance."

"I am not performing a damn fan dance!" Charlie snapped at the Frenchman.

"You 'ave any better ideas?" Christophe challenged.

"I don't give a shit!" Charlie's scowl intensified. "I look ridiculous enough as it is! I have more on my head than on my body! If I wasn't ordered to by my future boss…fuck!"

"Yes, it is reprehensible," Christophe said in an agreeing tone of voice. "You are like a sister to me. I do not want to look at my sister in zat way. Ozzers…" he glanced towards Bain who was being more quiet than usual, "…I am not so sure of."

"Don't use that holier than thou shit," Charlie said.

"I doubt anyone weel see us," Christophe said confidently. "Zey are all more interested in killing each ozzer. Let us go while we still can."

Charlie growled. "I'm telling you, I am not going to be do a fucking fan—"

_Five minutes later…_

"—God fucking damn it!" Charlie snarled as she sensuously waved the large fan in front of her body, a large gathering of angels watching her.

"I have no idea what's going on but all I know is that I'm feeling aroused," an angel said, eyes glazed over with unrecognized lust.

"I wish I had a penis," another said.

There was a hum of agreement.

They were going to be the first to suffer, Charlie swore.

Meanwhile, Christophe and Bain were making good of her distraction. With the feline grace of someone who knows their body and makes no unnecessary movements, Christophe snuck up to and slid into the small space under the large pillar that was at the moment powering up for another blast. Bain was more clumsy in comparison but thanks to Charlie's (all her hate!) distraction, he too was unnoticed. Maybe Christophe was right about his height…

Beneath the heavenly contraption, Christophe was unstrapping the explosives from his body and planting them in the nooks and crannies provided by the pillar's engine. He focused on one side, knowing that the plan called for this thing to fall in the direction of its identical brother. He didn't even pause after he had run out and was working on the explosives that were strapped to Bain.

It didn't take much time for the French mercenary to complete this task as he had done things like this before and under much more intense circumstances. Bombs planted, detonator wired, everything was a go.

At least until…

"_No! They expect one of us in the wreckage brother!_" Bain stopped the mercenary, hand on the Frenchman's shoulder. He was looking at Christophe with an intensity in his eyes and—

"Fuck that!" Christophe snarled as he shoved Bain backwards.

"_The fire rises!_" Bain protested as he followed after, his attempt to trick his male nemesis into willingly suiciding himself failing.

"Convince someone else of weaker mind!" Christophe spat at the sociopath. Knowing that Charlie would give him hell if anything happened to kill this monster in human skin, and seeing as how she was _not_ in the best of moods, the mercenary dragged the psycho behind him.

Charlie's rage was starting to reach its peak, her admittedly tenuous control over it way past the breaking point, when Christophe grabbed her from the side and pulled her with him and away from the battle. The angels continued to stare, not aware that their seductive show had just come to an end.

"I zink you want zis," Christophe said as he handed Charlie the detonator.

"You're damn right!" Charlie snarled as she snatched the device and without a second thought activated it.

* * *

A jarring boom shook the earth and from where he stood, Damien, slid his eyes in the direction of the explosion. To his far right, he could see unholy flames billowing about the base of that particular heaven-brought pillar. The only question on his mind was was that enough to…?

Yes. Yes it was.

Almost dispassionately, he watched as the pillar that had only a few seconds ago been in the midst of charging up for another blast begin to lean precariously to a side. Despite its supernatural creation, the weapon was still subject to the mortal law of gravity and its fall began in earnest as it tipped over.

Damien's face began to brighten with glee as Charlie's plan started to mature. The toppled pillar collided with the one that was next to it, the impact releasing the stored up holy energy within. There was a brighter explosion and the chain of dominoes continued. The weaponized pillar that had been second to the right was knocked over and fell into its counterpart to the left. The pattern continued as one pillar fell against the one to its left and started the process all over again.

From this vantage, he could see the fallen pillars form a barrier between the forces of Hell and Heaven, a crooked wall that separated the multitude of combatants from one another. There were some smaller explosions from the ruined weapons but nothing quite like that first one and the energy within them began to dissipate.

"Agent Smith?" he asked, not saying anything else further.

"The charge begins," Agent Smith replied as he put his commands into the golden Nintendo DS.

* * *

Michael stared in shock, unable to believe what just happened.

"What just happened?" he voiced the very words on his mind. "Was there a malfunction with the obelisks? What in God's name is going on?"

"That wasn't supposed to happen," Uriel added his two cents in.

"A scouting party," Mysterion hissed. "They attacked one of the obelisks without attracting my attention. Damn it!"

"This is bad, isn't it?" Gary asked, turning away from the battle to face the other angels and fellow mortal.

"They're attacking!" Mysterion exclaimed. They're throwing themselves over the obelisks and our forces are still disorganized! Fuck!"

* * *

The dust was barely settling when the first demon came flying over the destroyed obelisk and into a random angel. A gangly thing it was, hardly armored at all except for teeth and claws that ripped into the unfortunate angelic warrior, his screams being cut off as his throat was torn out.

As the other angels began to rally to save their dying comrade, another lanky demon came flying over the obelisk and then another, then several more.

"It's eating my face!" an angel cried out, not in the least bit over exaggerating.

"Hold on! I'll help—ahh!" an angel cried out, on his way to help but was attacked by another of the spidery-looking demon.

The obelisk was cooling as the holy energy leaked out of it and after the angels began to start mounting a counterattack against their demonic assailants, the armored demons began climbing over their destroyed weapon and launched themselves into the fray. Swords cleaved into angel torsos, hacked off their arms, and sliced off heads. It was turning into a regular bloodbath.

"Come on! We have to—" a fiery, molten rock crushed this angel who had tried to rally the others, a few other angels also joining his fate.

Hell was really coming at them this time.

* * *

Charlie shook her head, trying to clear it of the disorientation. Maybe she should have waited until they were further away from the blast area. Remind her not to be so eager to press the button to a detonator of a group of hellish explosives. Why had she done that—oh, _right_.

She could feel the earth scrape against her exposed stomach. Nearby she could see one of those _damn_ _fans_. She was pissed off all over again.

She was on her feet, eyes looking for the closest weapon. Said weapon happened to be a sword that was laying innocently on the ground near an angel who was also regaining his senses. Looked good enough to her.

She swiped up the medieval weapon and used it to mercilessly slay the angel who by then had spotted her but didn't move due to being mesmerized by her…unprotected…body…

There was going to have to be a body count before this was over.

Seeing other surviving angels beginning to pick themselves up, Charlie unknowingly led the charge against them as a swarm of demons followed after her.

In almost no time at all, she would be blood-drenched and wouldn't even care.

* * *

The battle was turning against them. The forces of Heaven didn't have enough reserves to back up their forces currently being slaughter. It would turn out later that Michael hadn't thought they needed them. It also turned out he had a flightsuit ready and a banner with the words MISSION ACCOMPLISED hanging over the Portals of Joy. But none of that was known right now.

To Gary, what was was that this was becoming a losing fight. It was time to pull back.

It wasn't often that Gary took a leadership position but it looked like he was going to have to. "Kenny, can you get a retreat started?" he demanded.

"Retreat? We can't retreat!" Michael exclaimed. "Sure it…looks bad now but if we stay the course, I'm sure we can turn things around!"

"No," Gary said in the coldest voice he had ever uttered. It surprised even him but now was not the time to marvel at it. "I'll cover the front lines, serve as a distraction for the demons. Kenny, sound the retreat."

"You can't seriously be going down there," Kenny in his Mysterion get-up said, looking up from the golden PSP. "You're too important."

"And their lives aren't?" Gary retorted. "We've done things their way," he gestured to the archangels, "and it's not going well is it? Now we're going to do it my way."

"You can't do that!" Michael exclaimed. "I'm the one in charge here!"

"Not anymore you're not," Gary rebutted, invoking the Jack Bauer rule.

"Aww," Michael slumped and backed away.

"Very well, I'll start the retreat," Kenny said. "But take someone with you," he added.

Nodding in agreement, Gary chose the toughest looking archangel he could see. "Uriel, take me down there."

Uriel looked uncomfortable and hesitant but a look that Gary normally didn't give to anyone, much less angels, sped up the archangel's decision making process. Gary didn't like having to take charge like this but someone needed to and since he was the Second Coming, he might as well do it and make that title worth something. He didn't want to abuse the position because he was too nice to do such a thing but dark times like these called for decisive action.

Uriel picked him up in what was known as bridal style and with a flap of his great wings, he was over the clashing armies below them. Air whipped through the young Mormon's blond locks and he squinted his eyes as he peered downward, searching for a place to land.

For a moment, he wondered if he was in over his head. It was one thing when he was fighting someone like Damien but holding off an entire army? He swallowed anxiously, trying to push those troubling thoughts aside.

It took a moment but he noticed how Heaven's forces began to pull back, the retreat going into effect but occurring slowly. He spotted an opening between the two forces and he directed Uriel's attention to it.

This was going to be it. Either he was going to be a hero or a martyr. He was not ready to be a martyr just yet so that was all the motivation he needed to make sure he got through this relatively unharmed.

"No one will look down on you if you change your mind," Uriel told him, his voice raised so that the messiah could hear him.

"It would be easy to do that," Gary nodded, "but doing the easy thing is not always the right thing." Grasping some of the archangel's blond hair, he pulled on the strands, nonverbally telling his winged companion to go down.

With reluctance, Uriel obeyed. The gruesome picture of war was becoming so much clearer the closer they dropped down to it. For a moment, Gary wondered if this whole war was the right thing. Could something so ugly be the correct choice in dealing with Hell?

When he felt they were close enough to the ground, Gary pushed himself out of Uriel's hold and allowed himself to drop to the blood-drenched earth. Shock and strain tingled through his legs and he thought briefly that that may not have been such a good idea. However, there was no more time for thoughts as Gary had to use his, quote, "mega awesome Christ powers" to cover the retreating angels and stop the advancing demons.

The holiness he was radiating caused the demons to slow their advance and eye him warily, wondering who he was and what he was doing.

"Hey," Gary greeted. "How are you guys doing?"

Let it never be said that Gary wasn't nice enough to engage his enemies on the battlefield with some pleasant words.

* * *

"They are withdrawing," Agent Smith reported.

"Heh. Without their toys, Heaven's forces are not much to write about," Damien chuckled, starting to see what his Anti-Keanu Reeves had informed him up. Narrowing his eyes, he peered at one portion of the battlefield. "Agent Smith, what is that?"

"One moment," Agent Smith said. After the allotted time had passed, "It appears that an exceptional warrior has taken the field and is covering the retreat."

"It wouldn't happen to be their Keanu Reeves?" Demonius asked, anxious about the prospect.

"No, it is not Mr. Anderson," Agent Smith answered. "It is the one you informed me about, the Second Coming. His powers are growing. I am unable to explain what powers are occurring here but what I do know…is that some of our men have been invited over for dinner."

"Crafty little Mormon," Damien hissed.

"Shall I take care of him Master Damien?" Zazul asked with a guttural hiss.

"No. Let their messiah do as he pleases for now," Damien said. "He is not taking offensive action against us, meaning he is no threat. If we tried something, we would martyr him which would rally their troops and our victory would be snatched away. There's no need to beat a dead horse."

"Pardon me but wouldn't now be the best time to strike him down? He will only get stronger," Agent Smith pointed out.

"If he's like his predecessor, he'll resurrect in three days," Damien snorted. "No, my father gave me instructions that regardless of what happens, the Apocalypse will still take place when it should. This is certainly not that."

"Then what are we doing?" Agent Smith asked.

"Letting Heaven embarrass itself," Damien smirked.

"There almost certainly will be a second engagement," Demonius said. "Those goody two-shoes won't let this defeat stand. They're too full of themselves. They'll come at us with everything they've got."

"Then we'll change the venue," Damien said. "Earth is very lovely this time of year, wouldn't you agree?"


	17. Cartman's Tale of Woe

Author's Note: The first part was easy to go but I came across a problem with the second half. Fortunately, **Zephyr Morpheus Lee** helped me out again so here's your credit. To be honest, I think the title of this chapter is very appropriate for undisclosed reasons. You're all about to find out anyway. On to other business, only one person has voted in the poll. I'd like to ask again for people to participate. I'll only take a minute, honest. Satisfy my curiosity. Of course, if there is a problem, like the poll doesn't show up on my profile page, please tell me about it and I'll fix it in a jiffy.

Enjoy.

**CrownedSoldier**: Well, the reason why Jay didn't shoot Cartman was because I still need the fat asshole. But don't worry, Jay's going to become a bit badass in the next couple of chapters. Well, I'm not sure badass would be the right word but I'll let you have the final say of that when the time comes.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, Cartman's POV

Cartman's Tale of Woe

While refreshed in body, Craig was not in mind. Sleep deprivation was a bitch and the same could be said about his wife. Still, this was a normal marriage, right? The wife always nags the husband who pretends to listen.

He should have known that she'd be waiting for him to come back home. She did it every day as if she had spent most of it trying to come up with something new to rip him on. Still sounded like a normal marriage to him.

At the very least, he was clean now and that for some reason made Craig so happy. He was dressed now, if you were wondering, and was planning on getting out of here as soon as he could. With Brianna here…being Brianna, he was not going to be getting any rest anytime soon. So he needed to go and it was a good thing he carpooled to the bowling alley. That meant his car was still here and he didn't need to wait for anyone to come pick him up.

Hmm, what were the chances he could get to the car without Brianna seeing him?

Opening the bedroom door, he found Brianna on the other side, waiting for him and giving him the most unimpressed expression he had ever seen.

Apparently, his chances weren't good.

"You took your time," Brianna commented. "Not hiding something are we?"

Oh for crying out loud. "Can't somebody enjoy a nice, hot shower?" he asked, letting some of his irritation out.

"For half an hour?" Brianna demanded.

"I was really dirty," Craig replied.

"I bet you were dirty," Brianna muttered but Craig heard her nice and clear.

"Are you still on about that?" Craig asked, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. He was going to need more than a nice, hot shower to relax him it seemed.

"Well, if you would just tell me what you were really doing, I might not have to race to conclusions," Brianna huffed.

But wasn't she…? You know what? Forget this. She wanted to know so badly, he'd tell her but he didn't expect her to believe him. He placed his hands on his wife's shoulders and pulled her into the bedroom, directing her towards the bed. Green eyes were wide with uncertainty, Brianna not knowing what he was doing.

With her seated on the bed, his hands still on her shoulders, Craig decided to give her the short version. "Last night, while at Wendy Testaburger's pathetic attempt to stretch out my ten year high school reunion, an angel from Heaven appeared and told us that the Antichrist who happens to be our mayor is planning to start the Apocalypse early. I stupidly agreed along with everyone else to help out and was given the task to steal the second part of the Book of Revelations so that Heaven can put Hell in its place once and for all. I am pissed off about it because there is nothing nice and boring about it but I can't walk away from an angel asking my help. That's why I didn't come home last night; I was busy with the guys from my old high school class planning to kidnap Kyle Broflovski and hold him ransom for the book. In case you were wondering, it didn't work."

Several minutes passed and Craig felt like there was something missing. Now what could it be? Staring at Brianna, who had this slack jawed look on her face, for a moment, he figured it out.

Silence. It was such a foreign concept in this house. He had almost forgotten what it sounded like.

But now that he had figured this pressing mystery out, he had a feeling that Brianna wasn't quite…accepting his answer no matter how true it was. What had he expected? Well, whatever, he was getting out of here to help the others with this latest misguided adventure of theirs.

"Where are you going?"

Craig paused in the doorway as Brianna finally gathered her wits. "Back out," he answered. "Don't know when I'm coming back."

"Oh, I see how it is," Brianna spat out, getting up to follow him. "Running away? Or should I say out?"

"We are not having this conversation right now," Craig moaned with exasperation. Why was it today of all days that his impressive patience was wearing thin? Had to be all the stress, he decided. He couldn't think of another explanation. He was going down the stairs about now and he was so close to being home free.

A bit ironic that he was already home.

Choosing to tune out anything else Brianna said, because by now it was repetitive and he didn't need to hear it again, he made his way into the garage and where freedom lay. Getting into the driver's seat of his car, he wondered on where the others would be. Back at Kenny's garage? Good as place as any to check out.

Craig frowned as the front passenger door opened and Brianna slid in. "Don't think you're going to get out of this that easily," she smirked darkly at him. "We're not finished."

Craig gave his wife the blandest look he had ever given. He wasn't even trying to be bland. "You want to stick around, fine," he said as he started the engine. "It's your funeral."

* * *

Kyle had heard the word of Hell's victory before he even saw Damien strolling through the hallways. Yeah, he didn't need to wonder how good the Antichrist was taking it; he looked like he was king of the world. Or he was horny. Sometimes Kyle got the two confused.

So okay, yay, they won. Was it over? Kyle could only hope that it was over because he did not want to stretch this shit out more so than it already was.

"Has anyone seen my father?" Damien's voice boomed. Ooh, that sent shivers up his spine. "Well?"

Kyle didn't have to look to know that the various demons that had been milling about before were now searching for the ruler of Hell himself. The young Jew was a bit surprised when word of Satan's whereabouts weren't forthcoming. Then again, Kyle himself had seen the big red guy holing up in his own chambers earlier so maybe…

"I might know," he ventured out and found himself under red eye scrutiny.

With a smirk, Damien said, "That's my aide. Always knowing what I don't. So where is he?"

"I saw him go to his room, that's what it's called right?" Kyle said, soon enough finding himself tagging along after the Antichrist. "What's the rush, dude?"

Apparently knowing what Kyle had said about Satan's "room," the black-haired male was speed walking his way towards Satan's location. "Haven't you heard, Kyle? We won the battle. I want to be the one who tells Father first."

Hmm, Kyle was beginning to figure out what was going on here. Like a kid trying to impress their father with whatever achievement they had at hand, Damien was trying to gain his father's approval. Show the old man that he was strong and living up to the ideal. It'd be cute if Damien were six years old and not…however old he was because despite looking twenty-eight, Kyle knew for a fact that Damien was much, much older than he led on.

Now there was a thought. How long did a devilspawn go through childhood?

Well, anyway, there was something else Kyle needed to tell his…employer. Yeah, let's stick with that. "You might want to wait a bit before telling him," he warned.

Damien slowed down, allowing Kyle to reach his side. "What do you mean by that?" Damien asked though it came out more like a demand.

"As soon as the door closed, I heard noises," Kyle admitted. "Whatever he's doing in there, I don't think you want to interrupt it."

Damien stared at him blankly, making the redhead uncomfortable. What was Damien thinking? Was he planning punishments for him daring to put the brakes on his excitement? Was he looking for an ulterior motive? Was he trying to imagine what his father was doing behind closed doors? What?

"I'll risk it," Damien said finally and resumed his fast pace. …damn you Stan for putting that those words in his head. Hey, wait a minute!

"Damien! Don't be rash!" Kyle exclaimed as he hurried after South Park's current mayor.

"I'm not being rash Kyle; this is important!" Damien replied. "It can't wait!"

"Maybe it can. Just…just give your dad a little time and wait for him to come out," Kyle suggested.

"Kyle, Kyle, Kyle, your futile attempts to delay me so that you can keep me all to yourself are adorable," Damien chided him as he turned down a hallway. How'd the Antichrist knew it was this one, Kyle could only surmise that it was knowledge gain from spending so much time here. Kyle himself was still getting used to the place.

Hold up. Damien sounded very conceited there for a moment. Delay him so he could… Oh, he so wished that! No, no, no, no, Kyle was just trying to prevent Damien from doing something he was really going to regret, that's all. Seriously! It wasn't how Damien said it was!

What was that sound? Were those…? Oh, they were. They were! Damien! Stop what you're doing! It can seriously wait!

"Hmm, Father must be doing a private torture session," Damien mused as he stopped in front of what were Satan's personal quarters. With a twisted smirk, he said, "This will really put him in a good mood."

What was the point? Kyle stopped a few feet away and awaited Damien's preventable mistake. This was going to be bad, he just knew it.

"Father, I have great news!" Damien announced as he rudely opened the large doors. "We kicked those heavenly assholes' asses—what in holy heaven!"

"Damien? Is that you? Daddy's—uwaaahhh—busy. Come back later…"

Kyle waited patiently as he watched Damien's naturally pale face pale ever further. His mouth was opening and closing, no words able to leave through shocked lips. Then, "Jesus Christ! What is…? Oh God!"

A loud slam reverberated through the hallway and throughout Satan's hellish palace.

Kyle was tempted to say "I told you so" but he didn't want to press his luck.

"He was…and they were…and that was…and he…I…ehh…" Damien was looking like he was having a hard time saying anything that explained what horror he had seen within. He'd get over it. After all, Kyle had that same reaction when he first came upon his parents doing the horizontal tango.

It didn't matter how old you were, no one ever wanted to walk in on their parents having sex. The thought of it was…ehhh. And they kissed you with their mouths after doing it! Who knows what foul things have been in there…

Damien swallowed loudly, gathering his wits at long last. His hands were griping the handles to the doors tightly and his eyes seemed to peer into space. Then, at long last, Damien spoke.

"That was that mortal Rod in there, wasn't it?"

"Yep," Kyle confirmed.

"And that was my father in there, restrained to the bed and taking it up the ass, wasn't it?"

"Uh huh."

"And that was a barb-embedded cat-o-nines that was whipping him, wasn't it?"

"You got it—wait, what?!"

Kyle blinked his eyes and then dug his pinky finger into one of his ears. Maybe he had heard that wrong. Hopefully. Maybe.

"They're going to be in there for a while, aren't they?" Damien finished.

Kyle couldn't say anything to that because his mind was still stuck on the previous question.

"I suppose it can wait then," Damien said, eyes looking up to the ceiling as his hands released the door handles. "But what to do in the meantime?" Red eyes fell over Kyle, who was still in the midst of his own thoughts to notice. A smirk creased Damien's lips.

Kyle came out of his thoughts as he felt something wrapping around his leg and slithering up his waist. Looking down, he noticed a black-colored tentacle feeling about his body. Wait a minute, a tentacle?

An arm wrapped itself around his shoulders and Damien's face hovered mere inches away from his while more black tentacles were creeping about his body.

"I have an idea of what we could do to pass that time," Damien said, his voice dark with lust. "You still have a bribe you need to pay me."

This was starting to look like Kyle's first night here again.

* * *

The novelty Bane mask slammed harshly against the wall, falling down to and clattering against the floor soon after. From where he stood, Bain glared at the cinematic article with maliciousness usually reserved for people he didn't like or women. He didn't care if he would suffer for it; he was never wearing that damn thing again!

Raking spindly fingers through short hair, the homicidal sociopath removed his gaze from the mask and towards the entrance to Charlie's future quarters just as the barbarian queen herself entered.

He had to admit, the blood-drenched look was completely her.

Light brown eyes looked him over, a raised eyebrow following. "What are you pissy about? If it's about you having to wear that gimmick mask, don't you even start. Now, I'm going to change and if you want to, you can sit your bastard ass down and wait."

Seeing as how Charlotte still looked like she could add one more to her body count and not give a shit, Bain decided to choose the path of least resistance and take a seat. Provided of course there was somewhere to sit that wouldn't end up with him losing a body part.

Not really trusting the furniture in this place, Bain came to the conclusion that he would stand while he waited as Charlotte vanished into what he assumed to be the bathroom, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in her wake. Charlotte may not have been the most modest person out there but she was covered in blood and it was best to wash that off as soon as possible. And yes, he did know that for a fact.

As if sensing that a potential victim was nearby, Bain returned his eyes to the doorway and found, surprise, surprise, Nathan Wilkes there. The African American was looking around, for who was more obvious than his lack of height.

"She's cleaning up," Bain spoke up before the obvious question could be asked, rubbing the ends of his fingernails against his trenchcoat. "I doubt that she'll want to see you so soon."

"And what makes you say that?" Nathan demanded, given him an annoyed expression.

"You don't really know Charlotte that well if you can't read her moods," Bain said airily as he removed his hand from his person, examining his nails as if they were more important that who he was speaking with. "She's really controlling herself right now; otherwise I wouldn't be…permitted in here."

"That sounds like bullshit to me," Nathan said and in the room he was. "What makes you so special that she'd allow you in here, hmm?"

"Like I said, I'm her type," Bain replied, lowering his hand and looking Nathan dead in the eye. "You, on the other hand, consist of everything she doesn't like."

"That so, shorty?" Nathan taunted. Bain didn't hear what he said after that as the next minute or two he was reining in his temper. Now was not the time for violence. Especially not after the bloodbath earlier. He had spent too long controlling his aggression to allow this…this black prick of an asshole to break it.

He wouldn't give Nathan the pleasure.

"Well, you do know what you are, correct?" Bain forced out through clenched teeth.

"Oh, this I gotta hear," Nathan said, invading the sociopath's personal space and literally looking down on him. "What am I, little man?"

"You, Wilkes, are a traitor," Bain answered, placing only his fingertips on Nathan's chest and pushing the black man away. Nathan allowed this more out of amusement than anything.

"A traitor, huh? What makes you say that?" Nathan asked.

"I didn't think you were this dumb. Do not offend my intelligence," Bain spat, Nathan's attitude really testing his resolve. "You are a traitor. Do you not know what that means?" Cutting off Nathan before he could answer, Bain continued, "It means that you have betrayed someone in this conflict. Everyone here knows about it by now. That's why no one is trusting you anywhere near the strategy sessions. That's why you are isolated here and don't even give me some bullshit reason why that's not it. You do have some brains so you had to have noticed that by now. No one trusts a traitor, Nathan. If you can commit betrayal once, you can do it again."

Nathan was giving him this look of disbelief, skepticism laced throughout it. He didn't believe him. Well, you can't say that Bain didn't try. But, with all his impressive patience so far, he felt he deserved a little reward.

"And before you go off to do something incredibly embarrassing, ask yourself this," Bain said softly, moving close to Nathan and softening his voice. "Do you think that Charlotte would ever consider you as a significant other knowing that you are capable of betrayal?" Pulling away, Bain allowed a smirk to flash on his face for a moment, backing away from Nathan so that he could take in the sight of his work.

Nathan was shaking his head, looking at him distrustfully but Bain could see the doubt in Nathan's eyes. Oh yes, his words were doing their damage. How long would it be until he broke, he wondered.

"You're just trying to mess with my mind," Nathan accused him.

"Naaaaw," Bain retorted mockingly, drawing the word out. Nathan seized hold of the lapels of his trenchcoat but all Bain did in reply was dart his eyes in the direction he had last seen Charlotte. Nathan picked up on the cue and while Charlotte had yet to emerge, the African American released him nonetheless. Ah, so this one learned from past mistakes.

"It's not going to work," Nathan said. "You're too unstable."

"So says the man who is shrinking his duties back at his self-founded recording business for a girl," Bain said.

"It's called dedication," Nathan defended. "They can manage without me for a while."

"But what about the next one, I wonder. Will you do the same?" Bain voiced the idea. "Unless you have some oxytocin pumping through your brain, whatever romantic relationship you form with her will not last. That's even if you do miraculously achieve that impossible dream. Face reality. Otherwise, you could become a diagnosed psychotic."

"Fuck you," Nathan growled.

"That's what Charlotte's for," Bain said cheekily, turning away from his romantic nemesis. A few seconds later, while Nathan stewed with those words in his head, Charlotte made her long-awaited reemergence. She cleaned up well, Bain had to admit.

"That's better," Charlotte sighed as she tossed the towel she was drying her hair with back into the hypothesized bathroom. Noticing that the room had a new addition to it, "I hope you've been playing nice."

"He's still breathing," Bain deadpanned. "Really, am I so low that I resort to violence every time a person poses an obstacle to me?"

"Yes," Charlotte answered immediately.

Bain narrowed his eyes but said nothing to that. Instead, he chose to change the topic. Speaking about how he was getting along with Wilkes here was not high on his priority list. There was something else, however, that was.

"You know, you and I need to have a chat," Bain said as he approached the Satan's future right hand who was a few inches taller than him. "You see, it's occurred to me that I have no idea what is going on."

"That's a first," Charlotte said.

"Ha. Ha," Bain replied dryly. "What I mean, dear Charlotte, is that I have little to no clue how this little war has come to pass."

"Well, that's easy. Someone picked a fight with someone else. Those someones happen to be Heaven and Hell," Charlotte said.

"That's beneath even you. I highly doubt that you wouldn't have found out why we're going through the bloody motions," Bain retorted.

"Well I haven't found out yet," Charlotte stated. "Why? You want me to?"

"I rather have an idea of why I'm putting my life on the line for people I don't give two shits about," Bain answered.

"And you say you're the eloquent speaker," Charlotte chuckled and…she was patting him on the head, wasn't she? Looking around the fuming sociopath, she spoke to Nathan, "You know anything about why we're in a war, pal?"

"Damien's trying to start the apocalypse early," Nathan shrugged though he seemed pleased to have Charlotte's attention. "That's what the angels said anyway." Ooh, remind us all of your treachery, why don't you?

"That's not right," Charlotte murmured. "There's a strict plan for that and Damien wouldn't dare try to mess it up. His father wouldn't allow it."

"Well that's what they were saying,' Nathan shrugged.

"Maybe it has to do with Wolf Black?" a new voice suggested. Three pairs of eyes directed themselves to the origin of the newcomer. A black haired, black clothed individual came into sight, Bain's heterochromatic eyes picking up the nose ring. Who was this, a punk? A wannabe rebel?

"What makes you say that…?" Charlotte asked, crossing her arms as she trailed off, hinting that a name would be nice to know.

"Dillan," this person said, picking up on her nonverbal cue. "And I've been here since the beginning. I think. Anyway, the Black Market is buying souls and it's pissing the Dark Lord off. Damien had this plan to wreck the place and cut into Wolf's wallet but then Heaven sent Mysterion and the Second Coming to stop us. I was there and saw the whole thing."

"Wolf Black is buying souls?" Charlotte said dubiously. Turning to him, "You know anything about that?"

"About the time of prom, if you remember that, I heard something about that but never placed any stock in it," Bain answered. He didn't say anything further because he was much too intrigued by this piece of information. It sounded like that bastard businessman was overstepping his boundaries.

If that was the case…maybe he could pay him a visit?

"So, you know anything about why he wants souls?" Charlotte was back to talking to this Dillan.

"I don't really know," Dillan shrugged. "I think it might have to do with the fact that he's an aborted Satanic fetus. After the Roe v. Wade decision, Satan went through a pregnant teen phase. Because a lot of Christians are anti-abortion, it was natural for the Dark Prince to do the things they hated."

"Getting pregnant and aborting the fetus. That'll piss off a lot of them," Charlotte said. "You wouldn't happen to know how many times…?"

"Satan said he lost count somewhere in the double digits," Dillan shrugged. "By the mid-eighties he was in a Wall Street phase."

"You know, you seem to be getting awfully close to the big guy," Charlotte said. "What's your angle?"

"I'm just a devout Satanist. Is there a problem with that?" Dillan informed her.

That rang a bell. Bain recalled hearing that there was a Satanist in their old class. Was this him?

"I'm just wondering why someone like you would want to worship Satan of all people," Charlotte shrugged.

"Does it really matter?" Bain said dryly.

"I don't mind," Dillan said. "By the way, nice coat." Someone was trying to go the flattery route it seemed. "Well, I found life to be a bitch early on and figured that any God that allowed that shit to happen was no God I wanted to be involved with. So yeah, always thought that Satan got a raw deal and one thing led to another so…that's about it."

"You're too nice for your own good," Charlotte stated, Bain agreeing with that sentiment but not voicing it. "For your sake, I hope you know what you're getting into now."

"Wonder what she means by that?" Dillan wondered quietly but by now Bain was beginning to tune the Satanist out. It was a nice distraction but he had gotten some valuable information out of it.

With everything that was happening, all of Hell's resources being diverted to fighting this war, Wolf was going under the radar. If there was a way to put the Antichrist of all people into his debt, then taking care of that little oversight would be a good place to start.

However, dealing with Wolf on his home turf would not be advisable. Who knew what little tricks he had stashed in there? It was a good thing then that he knew how to lead his prey out of their safety zones. First he needed to get out of Hell and then set the bait for a little trap…

* * *

Kenny was somewhat glad that he was able to escape the somber mood up in Heaven. Talk about being sober; it seemed like everyone there had their worlds flipped onside its head or something.

Then again, he wouldn't be surprised if that's what had happened. It was always in the stories told that good always triumphed over evil. Yet here was a prime and recent example of how evil could triumph over good. None of the angels had expected it. They had all believed that by virtue of being good, victory was already won.

Perhaps it was best that they lose now but win the battle that was important. You didn't win a war by winning one battle. There would be multiple engagements first, some important, some not as. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to stick around in that atmosphere because it was Kyra to the rescue, calling up Gary and telling him that he needed to come back to Earth for something.

He had to hand it to Gary, the guy was committed to his loved ones, even if they were just friends. Michael, though, was being a spoilsport about it and demanded that someone go with him even as the archangel bemoaned the fact that they hadn't won the battle. For some reason, Kenny thought that Michael was peeved that Gary had not only questioned but undermined his authority. Kenny had volunteered to go with the Second Coming yet, as if to keep some kind of tenuous control, Michael had assigned Gabriel to go with them.

Regardless of their winged companion, Kenny couldn't help but feel content the moment his body reentered the mortal plane and he recognized that they were back in good ol' South Park. Well, maybe not good but…you know what he means.

After that, it was all a matter of getting back to his auto garage where he hoped everybody had met back up at. Looking around, Kenny could barely believe so little time had passed since he had left. Really, a battle that lasted several hours was but maybe one to two here. Hopefully he wouldn't have any jetlag from all the inter-dimensional traveling he was doing.

All he wanted to do now was get out of this Mysterion outfit, of which the hood was down and the eye mask was hanging around his neck, maybe get a shower or do something to provide him relief from all this stress.

First, he'd follow Gary to take care of whatever it is that Kyra called him for and maybe he could then weasel out some private time.

Gary was the first to enter but Kenny was second. He didn't want to be out in public, and in broad daylight, while dressed as his alter ego. It was only really intimidating when he had the element of surprise or it was dark out and right now he had neither of the two. However, before he could do anything that was remotely productive, he heard what sounded like Cartman blubbering his heart out.

Unfortunately, he knew what that sounded like.

"Hey," Gary announced their presence. "Um…what's going on?"

"Gary!" Kyra called out. "You're back!"

Sure, state the obvious but they now had all attention focused on them. Well, maybe not all as Cartman was too busy looking like he was feeling sorry for himself and holding onto a golf club of all things. Kenny hadn't known the plumber could afford to have one.

"I thought whatever was going down was going to take longer," Stan said.

"Time moves at different rates in different dimensions," Gabriel piped up helpfully. "It's very complicated but I can go into more depth if you want—"

"NO!" everyone practically shouted, holding their hands up in warding.

"Maybe another time," Gary's voice cracked out. "So…what's with him?" he asked, gesturing to Cartman.

"We're trying to figure that out," Wendy began. "Just found him wandering the street with that golf club in his hands—"

"Sorry I'm late, what'd I miss? What's the angel doing here?" Craig unintentionally interrupted as he just arrived. Huh, Kenny hadn't noticed that he hadn't been here and—whoa, who was the chick? He didn't have long to wait for an answer.

"Why's your wife with you?" Clyde asked.

This was Craig's wife? And why hadn't he met her before? If he had known she was going to be here, he would have freshened up a bit, maybe make the place a little less grimy.

"She thinks I'm cheating on her so she's following me," Craig stated without a care. "Hope you don't mind."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Craig's wife demanded.

And whatever appeal she once had that caught the blond mechanic's attention in the first place was gone the moment she opened her mouth. Huh, the trance was broken. Well, whatever, screw the paranoid wife Craig had, why was Cartman sobbing like a pussy in his garage? This was a place of manliness and testosterone. The only tears shed here were those when a customer got their bill.

"Ey! I'm trying to wallow in my own self-pity over here," Cartman interrupted, glaring at Craig and Brianna. "Go take your cheating spouse melodrama somewhere else!"

At least he wasn't blubbering any—whoops, spoke to soon. He's at it again.

"This mortal seems really distressed," Gabriel said. "Is there anything you can do for him, Second Coming?"

"He's mostly talking about how things are unfair and that the whole world's against him," Wendy said.

"So nothing new," Kenny summed up.

"Well I'm sure there's some reason for this one," Gary said, disregarding those negative yet realistic arguments. "Let me talk with him."

"If you want to waste your time, sure," Kenny said, shrugging as the blond Mormon approached the obese man.

Crouching in front on the sobbing man, Gary said, "Hey Cartman? Can I call you Eric? Eric, what's wrong?" Christ that guy's voice was so soft and full of warmth; Kenny was tempted to answer for Cartman.

"Ev-everything I do…never goes ri-iiiight," Cartman sniffled. "I just want…want to heeeelp but no one lets meeee."

"Well that's good of you," Gary said, placing a hand on Cartman's knee. Cartman was too into himself to really care. Kenny only knew that because if Cartman was more aware, he would have slapped Gary's hand away and demanded to know if he was gay or something. Maybe add in a "fag!" for good measure. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"This is gonna be good," Craig muttered yet still as enthralled with the spectacle as Kenny was.

"I was just…trying help but it seems like…no matter what I dooooo, things always go wroooong," Cartman continued to sob.

"Come on, keep talking," Gary encouraged.

* * *

It_ was after we all got back from Heaven and I was a bit mad that I hadn't been allowed iiiiinnnn. But I still wanted to heeeelp and do my part. I was trying to think of a way to help everyone get into Heeeeell so that we could get the Book of Nemesisssss and I thought that maybe, maybe Black Market might have a book called _How to Break into Hell for Dummies_ and thought I could start thereeeee._

_And when I got thereeee, I found Damien and he was talking to Woooolf and they were arguing and Damien called Wolf an aborted Satanic fetuuuuus. I was scared so I leeeeft but then I thought to myself, "_Wolf is being a bad guy so if I can stop him, I could make the angels in Heaven like me and think I was cool and they would let me iiiiiin._"_

_But then I thought, "_How can I stop an aborted Satanic fetus? It's already been aborted once so I can't abort it agaaaaain._" So I, I talked with some people and thought that I should go to the church and that Father Maxi might be around to heeeeelp me. So I diiiid._

_When I got to the church, Father Maxi was real welcoming._

"_Well hello there Eric! What brings you to the house of God? You're so virtuous already and barely commit any sins so I don't think it's for confession." He was so nice and smiling and there were no boys that he was allegedly molesting._

"_Hello there Father Maxi! How are you doing? Are your ulcers any better?" I asked him, wanting to make sure he was in good health._

"_That's so kind and Christian of you to ask! They're doing much better, thank you for helping me get the right medications for it," he told me._

"_Oh, it's nothing much for this vagabond disciple of the Second Coming. It's in my blood to help those more unfortunate than I! You really don't need to thank me!" I could have gone on and on with this but I needed to help Heaven and aaaallll so I had to cut it short. "Father Maxi, I need your help with something."_

"_Well what could that be Eric?"_

"_Do you know how to kill aborted Satanic fetuses? Because there's one right here in South Park and he's up to no good."_

_Father Maxi couldn't really help the awesome me but he still tried! "I'm sorry Eric but there's no literature on that. On homosexuals and Jesus killing Jews, there are but not on evil and vile aborted Satanic fetuses."_

"_But there's got to be something! Think Father! How else would you get rid of something that's Satanic?"_

"_Well, I could teach you exorcism but that would take years to do," Father Maxi told me._

"_I'm willing to do whatever it takes to serve my Lord, Jesus Christ and God." So what takes so many people, like, ten years to do, I learned how to do it perfectly in ten minutes. But Father Maxi, bless his soul, thought I would need more than that. So he gave me a Bible, some crosses, and his favorite golf club in case I get in some golfing tournament with Wolf. And then he gave me a bucket full of holy water, in case shit hit the fan._

_Little did I know that really, Father Maxi was really an agent of Wolf's in disguise and that he had given me _unholy water_ instead of holy water. Not knowing this, I went to confront Wolf and show him the ways of Christ._

"_Hold it right there, you evil fiend!" I declared._

"_Oh no, it's Eric Cartman! The coolest dude in the world! Curses and drat! Now all my plans are ruined!" Wolf cried out like a pussy._

"_That's right! Your evil ambitions stop here, fetus! It's about time someone aborted you!"_

"_La la la la la la!"_

"_Dude, you sound like a grade schooler."_

"_How right you are, Eric Cartman, you who can do no wrong! Whatever shall I do?" Wolf moaned in defeat. But then, because he's an evil, aborted Satanic fetus, he had a trick under his sleeve. "Aha! I have a trick up my sleep! Black guy who's name I don't remember but employ due to unfair affirmative action rules, attack!"_

"_OBAMA WON FAIR AND SQUARE!" This enormous, black guy with a mini afro Mohawk or whatever it is bursts through the wall and spouts off socialist ideology. "MORE BLACK POLITICIANS! MORE WELFARE! GREEDO SHOT FIRST!"_

"_Jesus Christ! It's an angry black man who thinks the government owes him everything!" I gasped in shock._

"_ANGRY BLACK MAN SMASH!" I dodge a fist that's coming at me at, like, a hundred miles an hour._

"_Go get a job!" I yell_

"_BRRRAAAAWWWWW!"_

_And then, we have this awesome, epic fight, and I'm jumping off the walls and kicking this guy's ass because I'm the heroic white man who does not depend on government handouts and believes that with enough hard work, you can get your share of the American Dream. But then he gets a lucky shot and I have to do the only thing I can do._

"_Look! It's a dollar! Do you want it? Do you want the dollar?"_

"_GIMME!"_

"_Go get the dollar!" I threw the one dollar bill away from me and at a random bear trap that happened to be set up and everything._

"_MINE!" Bam! Angry, government-dependent black man is caught in a bear trap and it's just Wolf and me now._

"_Curses and drat! How did you beat my invincible black man?" Wolf cried._

"_It's over Wolf! God bless you!" And then I threw my bucket of holy water, but really it was tainted unholy water, onto Wolf. That's when Wolf turns into this purple monster and he takes me down with one hit, he's that powerful! I had to retreat and then that's when Wendy found me._

* * *

Quiet hung about the garage as Cartman finished his story. The plumber was calmer now but you could tell he was on the verge of another breakdown.

No one really cared about that fact, outside of maybe Gary, because they were still trying to comprehend the obvious self-glorifying tale they had been told. Kenny was more on the side of skepticism but that was mainly because he had had enough dealings with Cartman to know that you took everything he said with a pound of salt. Not a grain of salt, a pound of it. Because Cartman had a real skewed view on reality. You had to be really gullible to believe ninety percent of what was told.

"By God, it a miracle that you got out alive!" the archangel Gabriel exclaimed.

Let Kenny repeat, you had to be really gullible.

"It was so terrible!" Cartman hammed it up some more, looking like the most wretched thing in existence.

"I…bet it was," Gary said, patting Cartman's knee. You could tell that the Second Coming had his doubts about some of the details but he obviously believed Cartman to an extent.

"You must have encountered one of the Beasts from Revelations!" Gabriel continued. "Since the son of the Unholy One is trying to start the apocalypse early, it stands to reason he would be in contact with the various Beasts that will bring destruction and chaos upon the land."

"Um, what's this about Beasts?" Stan asked.

"The Beasts of the Apocalypse," Gabriel answered. "The question is which one is the one your mortal friend saw. Was it the Beast from the Sea who has seven heads, ten horns, and upon its horns ten crowns and the names of blasphemy on its heads? Or was it the Beast from the Earth, who has horns like a lamb and speaks like a dragon? Either way, they're bad news as they help the False Prophet, the Antichrist."

"Are you sure about that?" Gary asked.

"What other explanation is there?" Gabriel replied with a question. "Damien is closer to fulfilling his plan that we thought. I fear that the final battle is drawing closer and alas, we in Heaven are not properly readied to face it."

"Uh, Damien called Wolf an aborted fetus," Cartman said, looking at the angel queerly.

Gabriel ignored him. "Michael needs to know about this immediately! This is so much more dire than we could have anticipated! Damn it, if only we had the Book of Nemesis! …you guys are working on that still, right?"

"Nothing but," Wendy said, taking center stage for the motley crew. "You know, it would be nice if you could give us a hand in at least getting into Hell and possibly a way out of it. You aren't giving us much to work with."

"I apologize for that but we need to have all our resources directed for the war effort," Gabriel said. "But if you fill out the proper paperwork, we might be able to spare something."

"If we do that, how long do you think it'll be before we get help?" Wendy asked.

"Uh…give me a minute." Gabriel's brow creased and really, it looked like he was thinking hard about it. "I know this, just give me…I know! Thirty years."

Wendy's mouth fell open. "That's our time or is it Heaven time?" she asked, gathering her wits fairly quickly Kenny noted.

"Mortal time," Gabriel shrugged.

"But by then won't the war be over?" Bebe asked incredulously.

"Yeah…so might want to get started on it now. I'll go back to get you the stuff you need to fill out," Gabriel said.

"Just forget it, we'll figure something out," Stan interrupted.

"Yeah, like that works every time," Craig muttered.

"You got a problem Craig?" Stan glared.

Ugh, that old rivalry. Time to get involved—wait a second. "Where's your wife?" Kenny asked, noticing the lack of a certain tagalong.

"She's…huh. She's usually so loud that I hardly notice her speaking anymore and can't tell when she's stopped," Craig shrugged. "She's somewhere around here I bet."

"You're not going to look for her?" Alice asked.

"She knows where the car is," Craig said. "Wouldn't be surprised if she ditched."

"You're taking this pretty calmly," Kenny pointed out.

"I'm in the middle of some crazy shit with some crazy people, many of whom I don't like," Craig replied. "It's not nice and boring but I'm just going with the flow until I can get back to something that is nice and boring. Only then will I be sooooo happy."

"You're such a mood killer, _Craig_, gawd!" Cartman huffed, ticked that he wasn't the center of attention anymore.

"You look like you're feeling better," Gary said.

"What do you mean…huh. What do you know. I _do_ feel better," Carmtan remarked. "I actually like a million bucks!" He stood up abruptly, causing Gary to back away from him with a jerk. With the suddenness of his movement, Cartman was unaware that the head of the golf club he held was going straight for Gary's face and the blond reached up a hand to catch it.

The reaction was almost instantaneous. Cartman cried out in shock, releasing the shaft of the golf club as if he had been burned by it. Gary now found himself on his ass and holding the golf club in question, his brow creasing a bit as if something had disturbed him.

"What the hell was that!" Cartman exclaimed. "That thing almost burned me!"

"Well, that is that double agent's club," Gabriel pointed out helpfully. "Maybe it too was an unholy weapon that's just been purified by the touch of the Second Coming. I imagine that the banishing of evil would feel like that. The holiness pervading through the unholiness, shooting through the throbbing shaft and forcing a stream of pure evil out. Has to be satisfying afterwards though."

Right.

"Yeah…maybe I should hold on to it, get it checked out to see if it is a weapon of unholiness," Gary said and Kenny caught something that was in the blond's voice that sounded like…like there was something wrong here. "Whenever you're ready Kenny."

"Just give me a minute," Kenny said, making his way to his office/waiting room. "I need to get a change—"

"You're leaving so soon?" the journalist girl…Brittany asked and was it him or did she look a bit dismayed by that?

"We can't stay away for too long," Gabriel said. "We're in the middle of a war here. We have to work fast and can't stop for anything."

"We'll be back," Kenny told her. "I mean, this isn't going to be the last time we see one another."

* * *

What the odd assortment of people didn't know was that there were two others nearby, watching their every move and listening to their every word.

"Those guys have got this so wrong," Krisa groaned. "Why is everybody so stupid? Don't they realize what Wolf's up to?"

"I'm starting to really doubt that the forces of Heaven are going to be able to do anything for us," Bonnie said sorrowfully. She winced as she felt a tight pull on her spirit, a demandingness to know everything that they were learning through their ghostly espionage. "Great, he's impatient. Must come with that transformation."

"Christ, we're all screwed, aren't we?" Krisa bemoaned.

* * *

Author's Note: By now, you should know that everything that happened in Cartman's story didn't really happen the way he said it did with the exception of dousing Wolf. Liberties were taken, lots of racial stereotyping was done, and for those of you who don't like how your OCs were characterized in Cartman's retelling, remember, this is Cartman who's telling the story. It's only natural that everyone else looks bad.


	18. Stab in the Heart

Author's Note: We are firmly in the third act now. A few more maneuverings before we reach the climax. I'm excited about it already but first we got to get through a few more chapters of set up. If there's any point to say there's a countdown, I think this chapter will be it because after this, all bets are off. And now for a signature of one of my fics, death and there is going to be a lot more of it. Odd how I'm saying this now after writing a freaking war scene. But I guess death will have more meaning from this point on. Anyway, this is an OC heavy chapter, so I hope you don't get your knickers in a knot, **ShadowMajin**. Enjoy.

**CrownedSoldier**: Your tool has been enjoyable to use so far. Don't fret, there's bound to be another Brianna rub in coming. Just so nobody forgets, of course. You're welcome and I always finish my stories. I'm too stubborn not to. I'll take all the luck I can get so thanks.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

Stab in the Heart

"Okay folks, what'd I miss?" Satan said as he took his seat on his throne, a leather-bound book in hand. There was this glow about him that seemed to make the Dark Lord cheery and it was infectious to all around him.

Nobody had to say it but they knew that the Prince of Darkness had gotten laid recently.

Charlie wished she could say the same but with how crowded it was down here…there were some things she preferred to keep quiet. Or more like to herself. She could be a bit possessive if she cared to admit it. Glancing over to her boss' son who also seemed a bit wasted from certain activities yet had the same glow that wasn't quite as infectious about him, she allowed the Antichrist to give his father the news like he wanted.

"We won the battle, Father," Damien stated. "Through insane numbers and superior tactics, we managed to send the forces of Heaven back to where they came from with their tails between their legs."

"That's fantastic!" Satan praised. "You're a man after my own heart now."

"Well, now that we have the chance to be on the offensive, I was thinking about choosing another battlefield," Damien continued, broaching the topic to his fallen father.

"That so? What do you have in mind?" Satan asked.

"Earth," Damien said simply and waited for his father's answer.

Satan looked thoughtful though Charlie was able to detect some consternation. Wonder what that was about.

"Why Earth?" Satan asked at long last.

"So that we're not fighting at our own gates," Damien replied readily. Looks like the Antichrist was doing more than fucking around, and yes that was in the literal sense. "At the same time, taking the fight to the Gates of Heaven might make our enemies desperate enough that they will pull all the stops to defeat us. Earth seems more like a middle ground between the two. Heaven throws more of its resources at us there so that when we do make the final march in their territory, they'll be weaker than if we went there now."

"So it's a war of attrition thing," Satan summed up. "Waste more of their resources so that they're weaker at home. Do you realize that if you do that, they'll throw everything they have at you on Earth and that it might be you slinking off in defeat with your tail between your legs?"

"We'll just have to match them with everything they throw at us," Damien replied. "You still have your spies in Heaven, right? Find out what weapons they're dusting off and we can appropriately match them with our equivalents."

"You've given this a lot of thought, I see, but Damien, sweetie, have you forgotten about what I originally charged you to do?" Satan sighed.

The Antichrist frowned for a moment before understanding dawned on him. "Oh, I remember. However, Heaven is watching our every move and if I even attempt to confront that fetus, they'll take action to stop me, believing that nonsense about me starting the Apocalypse early. Where did they get that idea anyway?"

"Beats me but you still have to resolve it," Satan said, inadvertently raising that hand that still held the leather bound book and gesturing with it at his son. "War is no excuse for shirking your responsibilities young man."

"Father, now's not the time," Damien hissed, glancing at everyone else who was watching the spectacle. "Don't point at me with your diary of all things!"

"My diary?" Satan repeated and peeked at the book he held. "Oh no, this isn't my diary. My diary is more awesome looking. It has a cute little pink heart on it that Violet told me looked amazing and its shade compliments my skin!"

"Then what is that?" Damien deadpanned.

"Hmm, let me check," Satan said as he took a look at the book's cover. "The Book of Nemesis. Oh yeah that's right. Caught Nostradamus looking at this thing again. You'd think he'd stop making his 'predictions' after he died but nooo."

Nostradamus? So you mean that all those predictions he made he copied from the Book of Nemesis? And that was the Book itself? Didn't look that impressive, Charlie thought. Looked like something you'd find on someone's bookshelf that was placed there to make you think this person was cultured and intelligent.

Probably not best to tell Bain that.

"You mean…that's what Michael and the rest of the dunce flock are after?" Damien asked slowly, eyes trained on the book.

"Yeah, I was kinda the same way when God gave it to me," Satan said. "I looked in it naturally and was creeped out at how right it was. There were some spelling errors like Hitler's name was Hisler but still, it was very…precise. Haven't opened it since."

"Well, if we…" Damien began to try to propose but Satan wouldn't have any of it.

"I thought we talked about this Damien. The answer is still no," Satan said, any friendliness he had gone as he stared his son down with this, Charlie wanted to call it, intimidating look. Intimidating was too weak a word for it but she couldn't come up with anything better.

As if to underscore it, Satan stood up from his throne and then…lifted the seat up? What? Tossing the Book of Nemesis casually into the revealed space, he lowered the seat down and sat upon it, crossing his arms and giving a look that clearly said "what are ya gonna do?"

Damien wisely decided to drop the subject. "So…about my plan to take the battle onto Earth?"

"That? Okay, sure, why not?" Satan shrugged. "This is your fight. I won't tell you what to do but I expect you to take full responsibility for it if things don't go your way."

"Are you sure that's wise, my lord?" Demonius asked.

"He's a growing boy. He needs to learn how to lead armies," Satan shrugged. "What better practice for the real Apocalypse than this dress rehearsal?"

"You're positive about that?" Charlie spoke up.

"Never been more positive about anything," Satan confirmed. "Besides, you'll be there. I know if there's anyone who can to keep him in line, it's you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Charlie said wryly. "Mind if I go up to the surface for the night? Gotta check on Tammy and make sure she isn't doing shit behind my back."

"As long as you take your boy toy with you," Satan said and it wasn't Charlie's imagination that the Prince of Darkness was eyeing Bain like he was a rabid dog. "Can you do something about his voice while you're gone? It creeps me out," he whispered confidentially to her. Seeing as how Satan was a naturally loud person, his attempt at a whisper was not successful.

Everybody heard and had a laugh at Bain's expense. Bain was not happy about it.

Charlie restrained letting out of chuckle because she would be traveling with _that_ and she didn't want to make him anymore pissed off than he already was. "I can't promise anything," she told him diplomatically.

"Aww, but you work miracles! Even if you're a damned soul!" Satan protested.

"Like I said, I can't promise anything," Charlie repeated. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

"What? You're leaving now?" Satan looked aghast.

"Sooner I take care of this, the sooner I can come back," Charlie shrugged. Snapping her fingers at Bain, she said, "Let's go."

"Aw…now I'm stuck with all the party poopers," Satan moaned. Before the devil could say more, Charlie was out of the throne room, a certain sociopath trailing after her. Once some distance was between them and the ruler of Hell, Bain spoke.

"And you agreed to listen to that for all eternity?" Heterochromatic eyes were peering at her, trying to pry the reasoning for her impending fate.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Charlie replied. "He's not that bad. He's just not a stickler for protocols is all."

"Sounds more like a manic-depressive teenage girl rebelling against her authoritarian father," Bain said.

"Better watch your mouth. Everything here has eyes and ears," Charlie warned him. "Second, you've seen him when he's serious and, what's that word you used? Authoritarian? Satan can be bad ass when he wants to be. Don't forget it."

"Even when he throws fights?" Bain retorted dryly.

"No, that's just being a con artist," Charlie said.

"You don't have to be a con artist to scam the idiots in that godforsaken town," Bain said.

"Exactly," Charlie said. "Hurry up. I need some fresh air and the brimstone isn't doing it for me. If you don't give me any lip, I might give you a little something something."

* * *

And they were back in Heaven. At least Kenny had a change of clothes, he supposed, his Mysterion outfit tucked visibly under one arm. No more having to go back to Earth to change. And besides, his Mysterion outfit tended to get uncomfortable when he wore it too long. Too much trapped heat and since the materials he used were shoddy at best, you kinda get where he was going with this.

Anyway, they were back in the Heavenly City that he had been growing less and less fond of over time. It wasn't because of its looks because damn it, it was a beautiful place. It was more like the people who inhabited the place. No, he wasn't talking about the Mormons though he could only suffer them for only so long. At least those guys could take a hint and stay out of his way.

You'd find it weird that he was more put off by the angels but that was indeed the case. Guess this is what happened when you read too much into your own press. They were so self-righteous to the point they were all a bunch of dicks and assholes.

At least Satan could throw a party so you could at least find some common ground with the tormenting demons. It went a long way, believe it or not.

Beside him, Gary was quiet but that wasn't what attracted the blond mechanic's attention. The Second Coming looked like he was thinking about something and he was thinking about it hard. Something had ruffled his feathers and maybe it was the way that the blond Mormon was fiddling with that golf club he had taken from Cartman that made him think that that nine iron had something to do with it.

"What's up?" he asked Gary.

"Huh?" Gary looked up at him blankly, wondering if he had missed anything.

"Something on your mind?" Kenny asked.

"Is something on my…? I guess you could say that. Am I that obvious?" Gary answered.

"You're usually all smiles and sunshine and rainbow gumdrops," Kenny said. "You've been…I don't know, more depressed? Doesn't sound right but yeah, you look a little down. Ever since we got that story out of Cartman. Something of what he said bothering you?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Gary said. Kenny waited for him to continue but when no other words were forthcoming, it looked like Kenny was going to be making the most effort in getting the other blond to talk.

"So what about it is bothering you?" he inquired.

"The stuff about the priest. Maxi?" Gary answered.

"Yeah, Father Maxi. What about it?" Kenny asked.

"I'm wondering what a Catholic priest would be doing on the side of Hell," Gary said. Looking straight ahead, he continued, "Most of the time, Catholic priest talk all about how bad it is to be in Hell. Why would one of them join its side?"

"I'm thinking Cartman made that part up," Kenny said. "Cartman…has a funny way of looking at the world. He's always the victimized, never the victimizer. He sees himself as being the greatest person to have ever lived yet he causes all this suffering and then wonders why bad things happen to him. You have to be skeptical of what he says because you never know what is a lie and what is the truth."

"That's…sad," Gary said.

"He's burned a lot of bridges growing up," Kenny shrugged. "He's only where he's at because of himself. Don't feel sorry for him. He feeds on that pity and becomes…well, more pathetic I guess."

"That's very pessimistic," Gary said. "I don't think I could see it like that."

"I'm a pretty optimistic guy," Kenny said. "But I've been burned by Cartman one too many times. Trust me when I say I don't trust him as far as I can throw him and I doubt I can even pick him up."

"I wonder how he got like that," Gary pondered.

"At this point, no one really cares," Kenny shrugged. "So is there anything else he said that worries you? Besides him obviously making claims about Father Maxi. Maxi's one of those fire and brimstone guys who mellowed out over the years but still gets it on in the confessional booth. With grown up women, not kids. In that regard, he hasn't fallen into Catholic stereotype."

"Disturbing," Gary commented. "Well, I guess what I'm bothered about is this golf club."

"What about it?" Kenny asked.

"It's the strangest thing," Gary said. "When I grabbed it, I could feel the corruption in it."

"Well, Cartman said that Maxi tainted holy water and that he gave him the club in the first place," Kenny recalled. "Not that I trust him completely with that statement."

"That's the thing," Gary said, "it wasn't entirely unholy. I don't know how to explain it but the best way I can is that when I touched it, it was in the process of being corrupted. It was holy already."

Now Kenny was frowning at that. "That doesn't make sense. Why would a golf club be holy…oh. Guess Father Maxi must have blessed it or baptized it or whatever in the hopes of playing a better game. If that's so, then…"

"Then it would have been holy when Cartman first got it," Gary finished. "But somehow it was becoming unholy."

"And the only person who had contact with it outside of Maxi was Cartman," Kenny concluded. Looking Gary right in the face, he said, "If Maxi didn't do it, and I don't see why he would, then the one corrupting it was Cartman."

"How's that possible?" Gary wondered.

"Kyle's always said that Cartman's evil incarnate," Kenny said. "What if Cartman is so naturally evil that he corrupts holy things? That would mean that Maxi didn't taint that holy water but Cartman did. That means that Cartman's made this whole thing worse. Why…am I not surprised?"

"That's a bit of a stretch," Gary said.

"I've lived in South Park my whole life; it's not," Kenny told him. "There've been wackier things. You probably wouldn't know since you had the luck to avoid most of them. Not that that's a bad thing! Trade places with you any day for some semi-normal life, at least."

"I understand," Gary smile. "Still, I wonder what parts of Cartman's story were true?"

* * *

"So they haven't guessed the truth?" Wolf asked, adjusting the straps of his new suspenders. Newly tailored and fitted to his new size. Too bad the same couldn't be said about shoes and shirts. He was violating his own no service policy.

"No, they believe you to be one of the Beasts," Ongkanon confirmed. "I've been charged with learning more about it."

"Heh. Good. Those morons are so easy to manipulate, always believing in the worst," Wolf chuckled. He flexed the fingers of his large hand, admiring his new claws. He could feel the power in them and he had to say he liked it. He liked it a lot. "I trust you've done or said nothing to make them think otherwise?"

"Please," Ongkanon snorted. "I haven't had to say a thing. Michael, Gabriel, and all the others do it for me. This is easier than the time I convinced Shakespeare to kill off Romeo and Juliet!"

"That was you? Guess that means Shakespeare was divinely inspired," Wolf commented. "But enough with the pleasantries. How is the war effort? I had hoped that that last battle would have taken longer and had larger casualties."

"If there's one thing to say about angels, we do not give up in the face of adversity," Ongkan…en? No, it was on. Ongkanon. Damn it, if only markers worked on his skin now like they used to do when he was more humanoid! It had been the only way he had remembered this angel's name! Already it was starting to slip out of his mind! "Many are training themselves, readying for the next one and all the ones after."

"Hmm, this could go on for some time," Wolf mused. "What about the mortals? How is their progress on getting the Book of Nemesis?"

"Stalled," Ongkanon grumbled. "I don't know how they would expect mortals to find their way into Hell and get their hands on that Book. They offer no assistance and expect miracles."

"If they are to get in, they will need help," Wolf said to himself, feeling the need to speak out loud. "I could do that but that would risk exposure. I've already risked enough by allowing Eric Cartman to live. He might have to die before anyone begins taking him seriously."

"So what are you going to do?" Ongka…mon? No it was non! Ongkanon asked.

"I'll think of something," Wolf said. "Continue as you are. Light those fires in Heaven. Have them send everything they've got at that pathetic excuse for an Antichrist. I want this one to be more severe than the last."

"Understood," Ongkanon (ha! Got it right this time!) said, taking his leave. No sooner had he done so when his store assistant came in.

"Hey Wolf, found this on the door," Jay said, holding up a small sheet of paper.

Though you couldn't tell, Wolf was frowning at that. "What's this about?" he grunted as he held out his scaly hand, Jay placing the paper in his hand. Carelessly, Wolf read the words, eyes lazily reading the text.

Then his interest perked up.

Holy shit, someone wanted to buy that Build-It-Yourself-Mad-Scientist-Disintegrator-Ray kit! He had been trying to get rid of that thing for ages! He had thought he was getting a steal when he had bought it off that mad scientist with the intention for selling it at a marked up price. Finally there was a buyer!

"What is it? Someone wants to steal Christmas and fence it all through you?" Jay asked.

Actually, that was better than getting rid of that Build-It-Yourself-Mad-Scientist-Disintegrator-Ray kit but not by much. "Close enough. Get that kit I've been trying to get rid of."

"Which one? The Do-It-Yourself-Jell-O-Pudding-Cup-Mixer kit or the Make-It-Yourself-New-Coca-Cola Kit?" the black store employee questioned

On another thought, those were also things he had been trying to get rid of as well. Never trust Bill Cosby or Coca Cola executives. Both of them are trying to rip you off.

"Neither, the mad scientist one," Wolf clarified.

"That piece of shit?" Jay asked incredulously. "You'd have to be the stupidest son of bitch to have ever lived to buy that—er, I mean, the biggest idiot—um, I mean…I'm shutting up right now."

Wolf was full out glaring at his employee. The moment the word "stupidest" had slipped out of the gun nut's mouth, he had been making his displeasure known. Had he not had a deal with him, he would have _punished_ Jay for reminding him who the stupidest son of a bitch to have ever lived who would buy the Build-It-Yourself-Mad-Scientist-Disintegrator-Ray kit was.

"That's a good idea," Wolf growled. "Get the damn kit and make yourself scarce. It would be the…healthy thing to do."

Glancing back at the note, Wolf read it over again to make sure he wasn't leaving anything out. Odd. Buyer wanted to meet him and him alone at City Hall. Strange place to do a transaction. Could it be a trap?

Yeah, right. A trap. How laughable! As if he, Wolf, would ever fall for such a thing! You'd have to be stupid or something and Wolf Black was not stupid!

* * *

Brianna was racing away from the mechanic's garage in her husband's car, her thoughts racing over what she had heard. This was some good stuff! It had to impress Damien! With this, she would show him why they would make a good team and keep her around.

And from there, maybe get more intimate.

A car horn blared at her and she jerked the steering wheel, returning to her lane. Got lost in thought there. Then again, this was her imminent future! All she needed to do was take that first step and seize her destiny.

To do that, she needed to make a call.

With her phone in one hand and the other gripping the steering wheel, Brianna proceeded to get close to breaking Colorado law and dialed the number given to her back in Hell. She was so giddy, almost bouncing in the driver's seat where she was definitely breaking Colorado law and not wearing her seat belt. What did it matter if she was breaking the traffic laws? She didn't care! She was on the road to becoming Mrs. Damien Achristos! She was above the law!

She could hear the phone rings from the receiver and she slowly grew more irritable with each ring she heard. What was taking so long? Didn't they know this was urgent? Come on, your future ruler was calling!

"_Yeah?"_ a voice picked up and Brianna almost growled as she recognized it. It was her competition, that ginger Jew aide. What was _he_ doing answering _her_ call?

"I need to speak to Damien!" she demanded urgently. "I found out something important and it's for his ears only!"

"_You can tell me and I'll pass it on to him,"_ Kyle told her. Oh he would like that wouldn't he? And take all her credit while he was at it! Like hell!

"I will only tell this to Damien and no one else!" she snarled, swerving the car as she avoided another car. "Let me talk to him!"

"_He's busy at the moment,"_ Kyle said. _"If it's really important, I can pass it on to him now instead of later."_

"Nuh uh, only Damien!" Brianna hissed.

"_You do realize this won't endear you to him, right?"_ Kyle asked and Brianna almost panicked, thinking that that slimly political aide knew what she was up to. _"He's in the middle of managing a war here. Unless your intel is a game changer, he won't be happy with you interrupting his strategizing or whatever it is he's doing. At least through me, you won't get roasted or anything."_

"How many times do I have to tell you this," she growled. "Only Damien and no one else. How do I know you aren't working for the other side or going to conveniently forget?"

"_Well, you just told me your suspicions and now I know you're suspicious of me,"_ Kyle said and if she had been facing him, she knew she would have seen him shrug. _"If I was a double agent or saboteur, I could then work things so that it makes you look bad."_ Ah ha! She _knew_ it! _"But really, I don't really care. I'm going along with this shit because Damien's forcing me to. If I did anything that stupid like to mess this up for him, do you know what he would do to me? No, I didn't think you did. Just tell me what you need to tell him and I'll get right on it."_

"Only. Damien." Brianna was _not_ going to be taking _no_ for an answer.

There was a sigh. _"You know what? Fine. Have it your way but don't blame me if it blows up in your face,"_ Kyle said and Brianna smirked, knowing that she had gotten her way.

She was one step closer to that bright and glorious future!

"_What do you want?"_ Damien's gruff yet high pitched voice demanded. _"Speak quickly or I will make you pay for interrupting me."_

Whoa! Honey! Did you not know who you are talking to? This is your future wife! You needed to be kinder now because she would use this ill-treatment against her against him.

"I got something juicy," she said anyway. "Something went down at Black Market with that fat plumber Eric Cartman. Don't know what exactly but this angel guy was saying that the guy who runs the place is this Beast from the Earth or something. Thinks you're in cahoots."

"_What happened to Wolf?"_ Damien demanded and Brianna couldn't help but feel accomplished. Her future man was now devoting all his attention to her—_"Answer me you waste of space mortal! What happened?"_

Sheesh, take a chill pill. "He said that he's stronger now because of tainted holy water or something."

"_Bless it. Is that all?"_

Huh? But…

"_Answer me. Is that all?"_

"They think you're in league with Wolf?" Brianna put out hesitantly.

"_As if. Anything else?"_

Shouldn't he…shouldn't he be more warm and thankful? She had just given him gold here!

"No," she said.

"_Next time, when you call, speak with my aide because I will not be indulging your little whims, mortal,"_ Damien said coldly. _"Interfere with my strategy meetings again and you will have become a liability that will be taken care. Do your job and don't fuck up."_

Dial tone.

When they were married, she was going to—

A police siren shrilled behind her and looking into the rearview mirror, she could see the law enforcement vehicle tailing her. Grumbling, she slowed down and pulled over to the side, the police officer following after her. Shit, he was pulling her over!

Not even a minute later, the office was tapping on the window, motioning her to lower it. She obeyed like any other law-abiding citizen would and peered up into the face of the officer who had pulled her over. Say, it was that guy she had met at City Hall…Marcus? Marcus Cole…man? Or was it just Cole?

"You seem to be in a rush, ma'am," Officer Marcus said. "Any reason?"

Brianna grimaced. Think woman! "Um…there's…there's a sale at the mall that's a once in a life time event!" There, that ought to do it.

Officer Marcus raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you have any idea of how fast you were going for this…sale? Ma'am?"

"I don't know but I'm in a hurry so could you speed this up," Brianna said.

"For going twenty over, reckless endangerment of the public, and not wearing your seatbelt? Sorry, but I got to write you up."

"You're giving me a ticket?" she demanded incredulously.

"Doing my job, ma'am. License and registration," Officer Marcus said.

Oh no. She didn't have her license or knew where Craig kept the registration for the car.

Fuck.

* * *

Night had settled on this town and Bain knew he was in his element. He had placed his bait and now it was time to wait for his prey to walk into his trap. Should all go well, Charlotte wouldn't miss him for too long.

He was relaxed, a residual effect of certain…activities that could only be done in privacy, but at the same time tense. From the second floor of City Hall, a pillar serving as a barrier to hide him from sight as well as give him a view of the building's front entrance, he waited for Wolf to arrive.

He remembered how the businessman had been almost desperate to get rid of certain stock he had and one of them that the operator of Black Market had tried to shove onto him was a mad scientist kit. More specifically, the Build-It-Yourself-Mad-Scientist-Disintegrator-Ray kit. It had taken him a while to get that name right, ten years having dulled down the memories but if there was a word that could describe Bain, it was persistent.

One of his very few positive traits.

Fiddling with Winslow, he examined the blade, eyeing its sharpness. He wanted this quick and painless, for him at least. He shouldn't be surprised that the Antichrist hadn't gotten the job done yet. Well, it would give him something to hang over Charlotte's future boss, a boasting right if you will. He didn't care that he was damned to a fate of being stuck in a river of boiling blood and fire, he would have something that the Antichrist couldn't take from him.

Also, a little payback for all the shit that Wolf had put him through. Making that God awful song his password into the place and he had to say the verses over and over…

He truly did despise _Part of your World_.

Looking around the pillar and over the scaffolding that signified the renovations going on, Bain watched the entrance, waiting for Wolf to enter and get this show on the road. It was time to make sure that this aborted fetus remained aborted.

A loud click echoed through the lobby and Bain pulled back further behind the pillar. _Yes_…this was it! His heart was thundering with anticipation, blood flow quickening throughout his body as his fight or flight response was engaged. Norepinephrine was secreted throughout his brain and putting him on alert. The thrill of the hunt had taken over his body.

It was a bit of a surprise when both double doors opened. Last the sociopath recalled, Wolf was just slightly taller than him and they were both well out of the range for growth spurts.

His surprise increased as a lumbering purple figure tromped in without a care. It was some kind of beast, a monster that Bain could hardly describe. And it was wearing pants. Suspenders to be exact. What…?

The creature scanned around City Hall's lobby, searching for someone, perhaps it was himself. Then the beast spoke.

"Hello? Are you here? It's an odd place to meet but I have it right here." The creature raised a large box and shook it slightly. "The Build-It-Yourself-Mad-Scientist-Disintegrator-Ray kit, at a cheap price of…five dollars. You _can't_ get any better than that! All your world domination needs can be met at Black Market where everything is for sell and we don't know the meaning of the words 'it's not in stock.'"

It spoke with Wolf's voice. A bit deeper than Bain last remembered but it was still Wolf's voice. What had happened? Had that aborted prick gone through some kind of demonic puberty? No, that couldn't be it because that sounded ridiculous, even in his own head.

"Hello? I can sense you're here," Wolf said. "Are we going to do this thing or what?"

He was growing impatient. Well, far be it for Bain to disappoint him. Still, he was making a few minor alterations to his original plan. For one thing, he would be keeping his distance but that by no means made him any less dangerous.

And he was speaking about himself, not Wolf.

"I'm surprised that you actually came," Bain drawled out as he stepped into sight. Climbing over a sculpted railing lining the balcony of the second floor, he set foot on the scaffolding. "I didn't think you would fall for such an obvious trap."

"You mean…you're not interested in buying the kit?" Wolf asked slowly.

Apparently, whatever changes Wolf had gone through, his intelligence had suffered. Not that Wolf ever held a candle to him. "Why would I want a disintegrator ray?" Bain asked.

"For all your world domination needs?" Wolf answered uncertainly.

"I don't want the world. I just want to watch it burn," Bain stated.

"Well you can still use it for your destroy the world needs," Wolf advertised. "I'll sell it to you for two dollars and fifty cents. You can't get a better deal!"

"I don't want the ray," Bain stated, beginning to lose whatever little patience he had.

"Alright, you drive a hard bargain. A dollar. I won't go any lower than that," Wolf continued to haggle.

Wow, a dollar, that was cheap…what was he thinking? He wasn't here to buy something! He was here to take something. Specifically, he was here to take Wolf's life.

"How many times do I have to say that I don't want the ray," Bain growled.

"Fifty cents but that's my final offer!" Wolf proclaimed. When Bain said nothing, "Twenty-five cents?"

"You always were single minded," Bain said, pressing his fingers to his forehead. "Hearing the new facts about it, it makes sense."

"Look, I just want to get rid of this thing," Wolf said, gesturing to the disintegrator kit. "You have a penny on you? I'll take a penny, man! At the Black Market, we're crazy!"

"That old advertising line? I expected better," Bain said.

"So then what is it?" Wolf demanded and Bain got the feeling that this creature was serious. "Why bring me out here if you're not going to buy this thing?"

"You…did hear me when I said this was a trap, right?" Bain asked slowly.

"Did you say that? What! This is a trap?" Wolf exclaimed. "Now I see. I…I knew it was trap the whole time! That's right! Heh heh, you couldn't fool me! I was just testing you!"

"Says the fashion disaster in the suspenders," Bain retorted.

"I'll have you know that these babies are fashionable _and_ functional!" Wolf boasted, fiddling with one of the straps that looked like it was going to snap at any time. "I doubt, though, that you brought me out all the way here for something about my superior sense of fashion. I mean come on, trenchcoats don't sell anymore! Why have you lured me here, hmm?"

"Is it not obvious," Bain drawled. "I want to kill you."

"Ha! Yeah right!" Wolf chuckled. "Look at me! I've come into my demonic powers! I'm about to take over both Heaven and Hell but tricking both sides into fighting one another! And when one rises from the fight weakened, I'll swoop in and finish them off. Then no one will stand in my way."

"Like James Bond?" Bain suggested.

Wolf glared up at him. "No! Not like James Bond! This is original!"

"No, Sean Connery movies. There was a group that was trying to put the United States and Soviet Union in armed conflict with one another, just like what you're doing," Bain said. "Both sides fight one another and then this group swoops in and takes over the world when they've destroyed one another."

"It's _original_!" Wolf snarled. "You can't appreciate my genius!"

"There's a lot I don't appreciate about you," Bain smirked.

"Oh ha, ha, let me guess, you're about to try and worm your way into my head and mindfuck me," Wolf accused. "Those wannabe Jedi mind melds won't work against me!"

"Mind tricks," Bain corrected.

"That's what I said, mind tricks," Wolf nodded.

"No, you said mind meld," Bain stated.

"No, I'm pretty sure I said mind tricks," Wolf said.

It seemed like Wolf had only gotten more aggravating with his transformation. Bain was feeling the headache behind his eyelids.

"In denial, right," Bain said. "But what could I expect from a fetus that's been aborted?"

The kit fell to the floor as Wolf plugged his ears and began to say loudly, "La la la la la la la!"

An opening.

Bain moved fast, shooting his arm out and throwing Winslow at the creature. The blade cut through the air and stabbed right into Wolf's forehead, hitting with such force and causing Wolf's head to jerk backwards.

Bain smirked. Thank you Charlotte for the knife throwing lessons. He did learn from their little fights after all.

Wolf lowered his arms and lifted his head, staring up at Bain with an inquisitive look. "Is that it?" he asked.

Bain blinked dumbly as his eyes widened. What? But he had gotten him right in the head!

Wolf raised a large reptilian hand and gripped Winslow's handle, jerking the knife out of his head. Unholy blood stained the metal and the small slit that was the only sign that the creature Wolf had become was wounded began to close up.

"You mean to kill me? It will take more than mortal weapons to do that," Wolf smirked. At least, that's what it looked like from up here. "You don't have what it takes and you never will. Here, I believe this is yours."

Winslow was slicing through the air again only this time, the knife was heading towards him and—

_Thunk!_

—and right into his chest.

Bain stared down at where Winslow now rested, nestled in his chest and impaling his heart. He couldn't muster up the energy to grasp at the weapon, his pale skin paling further as less and less blood traveled through his veins and arteries. His knees were already beginning to buckle and his balance wavered.

The only thing he was able to do was say the word, "Ironic."

And then he fell.

His body had leant too far to the side and as he left the scaffolding, his body crashed into the one next to it, disrupting the work equipment and various tools that joined him in his descent. From the second scaffolding, his body bounced against the first, the very one he had fallen off of, and then slammed back into the side of the second one awkwardly.

After that it was nothing but air until the floor mercilessly welcomed him, his body landing stomach first. Winslow was plunged further into him and the side of his face smacked against the tiled floor. His eyes were still wide open but his irises were dilated, widening until they filled the pupils and glazed with death.

Standing over his body, Wolf snorted with contempt.

"You should have just bought the damn kit mortal."

* * *

It had been such a long time since Stan had been in Wendy's house. Whether it was too long or not long enough, he couldn't say. Why he was back in this place was due to the fact that Wendy thought they should all stick together for the night, maybe get breakfast at a nearby diner while plotting how they could get their hands on the Book of Nemesis.

It was quite the quandary; to get this Book they needed to get into Hell and the only surefire way any of them knew how was to die. But then there was the matter of getting out and that's where they were stumped.

So as night fell over the town and mental exhaustion claimed them, it was decided that they turn in for the night. Naturally, it would still be in Wendy's house and thankfully her parents were there.

However, there was only enough space for a few of them to get a comfortable night's sleep. There was Wendy's room, Wendy's parents' room, a guestroom, and lastly the couch which didn't have a pullout mattress and Craig and claimed that for himself.

As you could probably guess, all the girls got the beds.

That left him with Clyde and Cartman to sleep on the floor and you can guess who wasn't pleased by that.

"This is bullshit! Why do I have to sleep on the floor?!"

Wendy somehow resolved it and now silence had fell onto the household. However, Stan couldn't sleep. It wasn't the fact that they were all stumped that was keeping him up. Actually it was something else entirely.

To sum it up, it was Kyra.

Christ, he knew he had messed up with her. It was like he couldn't help it. Whenever it came to members of the opposite sex, he always seemed to mess up. Maybe he should follow Kyle's lead and…no. No, he couldn't bring himself to do that. No, no, no.

But really, what did go on in women's minds? Just when you think you're safe and in the clear, they throw you off your game and have you scramble all over the place. It was…sometimes exhausting.

Yet you couldn't live without them. Damn he had been so wrapped up in his life. Yes, there was lots of cash, fast talking, and all the stress that comes from trying to predict where the market is going to go. It was a fast paced world he lived in and he had to become fast paced. So much so he had literally left everything else behind.

With all his accomplishments, he was surprised he hadn't had to jack it in San Diego yet.

He perked up a bit as he heard some scurrying on the second floor. Someone was moving around. It was a bit of an accomplishment to hear that when Cartman was just a few feet away, snoring his ass off. And that might have also contributed to his insomnia now that he thought about it. Another snore from across the room alerted to him that Clyde was now picking it up.

And Craig, that asshole hogging the couch, slept like a baby. Didn't he have his own house with a wife who would force him to sleep on his own couch? Selfish prick.

Hmm? Someone was going down the stairs now. He somehow heard the small thuds made with each step taken down. What was this about? Were they going to the bathroom? Because one was upstairs. No need to come down here. He could barely make out a figure that came into view and continued to watch as it made its way into the kitchen. Huh, so it wasn't a bathroom trip but one to the kitchen. A midnight snack, perhaps?

Ooh! Maybe he could see who it was! If it was one of the two models they had with them, maybe he could tease them about sneaking in a snack when they weren't supposed to. Yeah…that sounded like something he would have done when he was eight.

Let's do it.

He slipped out from the single blanket he had been given and as stealthily as he could, snuck to where the midnight raider had gone. He heard the sound of cabinets opening, followed by the faucet running. Ah, someone was getting something to drink, not eat. He was a bit disappointed but continued forth nonetheless. Who was it that was up this late? Other than him, of course.

Thanks to a dim night light that was plugged in so to allow someone to walk about the kitchen without turning all the lights on and potentially waking everyone up, Stan noticed the outline of a woman, not surprising since all the girls were upstairs. However, little details made themselves known to him and he soon recognized who it was.

Speak of the devil, it was Kyra. He had just been thinking about her!

Tiptoeing up to her, mischief gleaming in his eyes, Stan leaned forward and uttered a soft "Boo" into Kyra's ear. Having anticipated the scare he was going to give, his arm had snaked around the young woman and grasped the glass of water she had dropped. Hair whipped along Stan's face as Kyra spun her head around and stared in shock at him for a second before calming down.

"Don't do that!" she hissed.

"Thought I heard something scurrying around," he said, not backing out of her personal space. "You almost dropped this," he added as lightly shook the glass.

"I wonder why," Kyra grounded out, snatching the glass out of his grasp and squeezing around him. "I'll be going back to bed now."

Stan blocked her way. "Not yet. We still have…stuff between us."

"Stan, it's over," Kyra sighed. "I thought I already told you, I'm moving on."

"Hear me out, will you?" Stan begged. "It'll take just a minute! Promise!"

"Your promises aren't the most trustworthy," Kyra said, "but fine, make it quick."

"I don't know how many times I can say that I'm sorry for everything I've done to hurt you. It was bad of me to do it and I don't know what I can do to earn your forgiveness and…stuff," Stan said. "I shouldn't have walked out on you and then forget your existence like I did. I was horrible to you at the reunion and, for God's sakes, I can't remember what I said that started this all in the first place! And the worst part of it all is that I keep hurting you even when I don't mean to. I've never wanted to do that. Please believe me."

"Stan, I know you. You don't intend to do a lot things but you still do them," Kyra said. "Do you know what I've been doing ever since you left?"

"Graduated?" Stan asked hesitantly.

"Well…yeah, I did do that but I've been living in this town working at Gamestop of all places. And I was pining over you and your insensitive ass," Kyra continued. "Did you know that there were times when I hoped that you would walk through the door or visit me at my apartment and say that you hadn't forgotten about me? And through it all, I kept getting offers to work at Nintendo, and Sony, hell, even Microsoft! I turned them all down until now. To be honest, I want to thank you for getting me to get my butt into gear because I need to start living for myself. I can't let my world continue revolving around yours."

He…he hadn't known all that but in some ways he should have expected it. No one stays a doormat forever. And he had always thought that she would always be there, even when he had forgotten about her. Living in a fast pace world was starting to look like bullshit when you couldn't keep the people closest to you from hurting over you.

"Maybe…maybe we can start over fresh, you know?" he suggested.

"We tried that back in high school," Kyra said. "I've restarted a lot of things in my life, mostly games because I got too strong and wanted a challenge…but I think it's time I continue playing. The game of life doesn't allow you to restart."

"And I think you assholes need to shut the fuck up! People are trying to sleep here!" Cartman interrupted, scowling at them from the kitchen entrance. "I need my beauty rest dammit!"

"No amount of beauty sleep will cure what you have," Stan stated, glaring at the interloper. Fuck, he was just starting to get somewhere with her! Did Cartman always have this kind of bad timing?

"Oh ha, ha, shut the fuck up!" Cartman spat. "You, ho, guzzle what you have and take your skinny ass back up stairs. Unless you'd like to give your bed to me because—dibs!"

"You can't do dibs on a bed that's already taken Cartman," Stan argued.

"Don't care! It's mine now!" Cartman boasted as he began to make a run for it.

"Shit, I'll take care of him. You go back to bed before the fatass reaches it," Stan told Kyra, taking off to route Cartman. It easy to block his way as Cartman has stupidly taken the long way to the stairs and Stan was able to push him back until Kyra had slipped by.

Enduring Cartman's angry tirade at getting even with him by making him eat his parents, it settled down again, Craig and Clyde miraculously not waking up throughout all the commotion. Now that it was still again and with Kyra on his mind, Stan wondered on what went wrong between the two of them.

What had he said back then that gotten them into that argument that would ultimately decide their current fates? It wasn't as if he had told her that he wanted to press his face into Lara Croft's boobs or anyth—

…

Oh. My. God.

It came back to him! He remembered! Holy shit, what had he been smoking when he had said that? No wonder Kyra got pissed off at him.

Looking up towards the second floor, Stan was hopeful that maybe, just maybe, he could resolve this once and for all.

* * *

Well, this trip had been eventful, hadn't it? Tammy was fine though she seemed crossed that Charlie had been making herself scarce lately. Not that that was Charlie's fault since she had obligations to fulfill. At least Tammy was going to be finishing high school soon; she'd be legally an adult and Charlie would have no legal obligation to watch over her. Not that she was going to stop because let's face it, family was important to this young woman and author.

After the checkup, feeling tired from all the recent stress, Charlie had decided that some rest would be in order. However, she didn't go to bed alone. And she didn't go straight to sleep either.

But now that she was awake, she had noticed that her bed companion was conspicuously missing. As much as he tried to be an unsociable recluse, Bain was a cuddler. Right now, he wasn't cuddling and in a quick search of the premise, she didn't find a trace of him. She could feel herself restrain a groan.

Earlier he had been making himself scarce, keeping out of Tammy's sight because, in his own words, he "didn't want to deal with it." Was it because he was under the same roof with the teenager who still had a childish crush on him that he was missing now? Christ, this guy was so much work.

All in one day, she was reminded of both why she wanted him around and why she didn't want him around.

At the very least, she felt more relaxed and less stressed. Might as well go back to bed and get a few more winks. Who knows when she would get another chance? And maybe the asshole will show up when she woke up. Not implausible but maybe she could make him some pancakes or he make her something nutritional.

It was a bit ironic, she had found, that Bain was a better cook than her. Scratch that, stuff that was considered feminine he was better at than her. Meticulous cleaning, dish washing, hygiene, let's not forget cooking, and he had this secret on how to make the laundry come out smelling intoxicatingly good. On the flip side, she was better at yard work and home improvement, traditional masculine tasks.

You should have seen the look on his face when she had pointed that out.

Asshole better be back when she woke up. Perhaps she could at some point convince him to make something decent in this household.

She felt like she had closed her eyes but for a few minutes when her phone brought her back to reality. It wasn't the house phone but her cell and she peeked at eye out from against her pillow to glare at the cellular device.

Whoever was calling better have a good excuse because she was going to disembowel that unfortunate soul.

"What?" she barked into the cell.

"_Am I disturbing you?"_ Damien's voice teased.

"Fuck you bastard," she practically snarled. "What do you want?"

"_My father's wanting to know when exactly you'll be back,"_ Damien answered.

"Is that all?" she grounded out. That was a pathetic reason to be waking her up and Goddamn it, she was going to hurt him when she next saw him.

"_Of course not,"_ Damien admonished. _"There's more."_

"I'm leaping for joy," she deadpanned. "Get on with it so that I can go into a coma."

"_Sorry but I'm afraid that's not going to be an option. Being the paranoid…parent that my father is, he installed City Hall with all sorts of hellish security systems and one of the alarms went off. Since you're the nearest operative, I want you to check it out."_

"Get one of your father's lackeys. God knows how useful they are," she snarled. "I'm not playing cops and robbers this late."

"_Do I need to get father to speak with you and order to go?"_ Damien threatened. _"We can do this all day but make it easier on yourself."_

"Fine," she spat out. "Whatever. But if I find a mess, _you're_ the one cleaning it up." Before she could hear anything else, she hung up and tossed the phone onto the nightstand. Let her repeat that someone was going to pay for this and it looked like it was going to be Damien. Glancing at the side of the bed that had a noticeably absent bedmate, she sighed and got up to throw something on.

Minutes later, she was locking up the house and heading down the sidewalk, hands in her pockets and still pissed off. Why couldn't that asshole of an Antichrist find someone else to do this? Oh wait, he was trying to piss her off in any way he could, wasn't he? Figures. But she needed confirmation first. She could do it while she put him through so many techniques that caused pain and pain alone.

So much was she in her thoughts that she didn't notice that someone had pulled up beside her. "What are you doing out?"

A quick look informed her that it was none other than Nathan. The guy had followed her and Bain out of Hell, which was more pleasant than when they arrived since they had a boatman who wasn't that one particular boat driver. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was stalking her but she got enough of that from Bain. But since he was here…

"Door unlocked?" she demanded. Nathan barely got the beginnings of a yes out when she was climbing into the passenger seat. "City Hall," she ordered. "Something's come up and I was told to go there. If I find you taking me some place else, I will tear off your nutsack and keep it in a jar on my desk at home."

"Yes ma'am," Nathan nodded at her, eyes wide. A few minutes later, they were pulling up to City Hall itself, any conversation Nathan tried to start up aborted because Charlie refused to talk. It was too early in the morning for chitchat.

The first thing she noticed as she got out of the car was that the front entrance to City Hall was wide open. Shouldn't they be closed at this hour? If there were some dumbass burglars in there, she was so going to kick their asses for the spite of it. Might be good for her, therapeutic even.

"What's going on?" Nathan whispered from beside her and she shushed him. If she wanted to keep the element of surprise on her side, she didn't need any noise from the peanut gallery. Old rusty skills were being recalled as she darted up to the front entrance, pressing herself beside it and leaning slightly so that she could peek in, seeing if there was anybody coming.

Nothing so far and with a spin of her body, she was slipping into the building, utilizing the shadows to hide her presence. Heh, she hadn't had to do this in…well, a very long time. Another thing she needed to get back into practice with. It took almost no time to enter the lobby and barely a second after that to see something lying on the floor up ahead.

From here it looked like a body. Or a black sack. There were tools and work equipment scattered about it so maybe whatever it was had fallen. Wouldn't it be her luck that one of the workmen here left something balancing on the scaffolding precariously and that gravity had finally taken hold of it? Best to get in close and maybe she could get a better idea of what was going on.

Without warning, the lights flickered on and Charlie hissed, glaring back and finding Nathan at the light switch. The black man looked confused at her expression of anger but that was the least of her concerns. Damn it, did this moron not know that if someone was still here that he had given them away? Christ! At least whatever was on the floor was easier to examine from a distance.

Hold on, what was that? It looked like…a puddle. A very dark red puddle. _Blood_. That thing on the floor was a person! What if they weren't alone and someone was still here? Her heart rate was speeding up as she scanned her surroundings, slowly making her way to the body. Was this person alive? Hopefully not dead. Please don't be dead.

And then the familiarity of the body struck her. The blackness covering it was a trenchcoat. And those were boots. Combat boots if she wasn't mistaken… Oh no. No. No no no no! Forgetting the possibility that she wasn't here alone, she rushed up to the body and turned it over.

Bain's lifeless eyes stared back at her. And there, right here in his chest…was Winslow. Quickly she checked for a pulse but somehow, she already knew. Her gut was clenching and moisture beginning to cloud her vision. Tenderly, she trailed her fingers against cold skin as her body collapsed from the crouch she had knelt into. She bent over and pressed her forehead against Bain's, her body starting to shake with repressed sobs.

Things had been going so well, as well as they could whenever she was involved with Bain. This wasn't supposed to happen. What had happened? Why was he…? She knew he had hurt a lot of people, murdered just as many, maybe deserved this, but…why? Who?

How had things changed in so little time?

She could feel it welling in her chest. It hurt. Was it emotion? Was it heartbreak? She couldn't tell and she couldn't find it in herself to want to know.

A hand placed itself on her shoulder and a calm voice spoke. "I'm sorry Charlotte. I know this isn't easy for you. Let's call the police and…or maybe just leave? We could go somewhere, the two of us, and…"

She didn't hear more after that because the pressure she was feeling in her chest turned ugly. Rage, fury, anger, all of it was boiling within her and whoever was speaking was only making it worse.

A second later, a fist was impacting a cheek and she was tearing herself away from Bain as she threw herself after the object of her rage. There was a block of her next punch and then another but then she landed another blow and a second one. Grabbing a pair of shoulders, she pulled them down while bringing her knee up and then throwing whoever she was assaulting away.

She hadn't realized it but her vision was tinged with red yet she was starting to calm down enough that she could recognize who she was beating up. As Nathan came into her gaze, her anger almost flared up again.

"Don't. Touch. Me," she snarled. "Don't look at me. Don't call me by my name. I've had it. You're overstayed your welcome. Leave me the fuck alone or I swear I will kill you."

"But Charlotte!" Nathan protested.

Bending down and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, she pulled up and snarled to his face, "I don't like you! I will never see you more than what you are now which is a fucking annoyance! You like me? Too bad! The feeling's not mutual! Go back to wherever the fuck you came from and never bother me again you piece of shit! **Got it?!**"

She shoved Nathan away and ignored the heartbroken look he had in his eyes. No, her attention was back on what it had always been directed to. Down on her knees again, she reached over and wrapped her fingers around Winslow's handle, slowly pulling the knife out of its former owner's body, heedless of the blood that painted its metal. She bent over and placed her forehead against Bain's once more, her body drained of energy, or anger, and once she sensed she was alone, she did something she hadn't done in years.

She began to cry.

* * *

Author's Note: Is it a bit late to mention that the title of this chapter is not just metaphorical but literal as well?


	19. Action and Reaction

Author's Note: Mostly a plot moving chapter here and boy is it a big one. Larger emphasis on OCs but this chapter shows just how much closer we are to the end of this thing. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Action and Reaction

Charlotte's biting words had hurt him more than he would ever admit. Nathan was not one to let something like rejection get to him but…but this was Charlotte!

Everything…everything he had done since high school had been in the hope of finally being able to get the only girl who had ever attracted his attention to like him. He was successful. He was strong. He was brilliant. Everyone wanted to know him, both professionally and personally.

And none of it matter when that psychopath was around.

_You can't have her._

He could! He would! Charlotte…she needed more time! Hopefully. Yet the hostility, the anger she had shown him, all directed at him… He had never known she could look like that. Well, maybe he had an inkling since every once in a while, Charlotte would break out into a brawl with the recently deceased Bain.

_You obviously don't know Charlotte._

He did know her! They may not have talked a lot but he had watched and observed! He had gotten a sense of her likes, her dislikes, and no he hadn't stalked her. It had mostly been at school and then searching on the web for anything that could explain it. Charlotte hadn't been the most sociable person because she had the tendency to do what she wanted, everyone else be damned, and that had put some people off of her. But when it came to a fight, she was one of the first chosen because let's face it, she could kick some ass.

Where she had learned to do it, Nathan didn't know but that hadn't stopped him from rooting for her when she was grappling with that psychopath who was every bit as determined to hurt her. Why then was she attracted to someone as violent and unstable as Bain?

_You're not her type._

What did he know, huh? What did that little asshole know that he didn't? Nathan was glad that Bain was dead. No one deserved it more. No one had ever made him feel small and weak as Bain had and that had served as a catalyst for Nathan to improve himself. He had stopped being a lazy teenager and had gotten involved with martial arts and athletics. He had honed his intelligence, applying business practices to his passion for music.

He had achieved what not many people would. He had fame. He had money. He had success.

_It's not just about Charlotte, it's about me. It's about how you compare yourself to me. It's about beating me, isn't it?_

Where did that bastard get off, huh? It was not about Bain! It had never been about him! Nathan would admit that that one confrontation they had in school, when Bain had dragged him to a secluded spot in the building and threatened him, had had an impact on him. In some ways he was grateful about it. Others, he resented.

Seriously, where did Bain get off, huh? What made him think he was better than everyone when he hadn't accomplished anything? He was a freak who thought himself better than everyone else but had no basis for it. Nathan had always thought that and even now he seethed at the fact.

But none of it changed that Charlotte had still picked Bain over him.

_Do you think that Charlotte would ever consider you as a significant other knowing that you are capable of betrayal?_

After giving it some thought, Nathan had to admit that Bain had a point. Damn him but the bastard had a point. He had committed to Heaven's side before he had left it for Hell's side, Charlotte's side. How else would anyone see what he did other than betrayal? Fuck!

He hated it that in death, that bastard had still managed to get one over him even after all he had done to try and impress Charlotte.

And as that bastard had been lying in a pool of his own blood, life long since having left him, hope had blossomed within him and Nathan had tried to draw Charlotte away from the corpse. He hadn't expected for Charlotte to strike at him and the surprise that of all people he would go hand to hand with, it was her and that was enough for Charlotte to take him down. All his training, gone and leaving him helpless.

It hurt that she still chose Bain, hurt that she had rejected him when there were so many others out there desperate for even one look from him. Fist tightening on the steering wheel as he drove away from City Hall, Nathan wracked his mind, trying to figure out what he could do to salvage something from this.

How could he get Charlotte? How could he get the woman of his dreams? The only one who had ever made his heart beat faster in his chest and making all the warm and fuzzy _feelings_ well up in his stomach? For so many years he had fantasized about her at his side and…and he would be _damned_ if he let it end like this!

Again, Bain was right, he was capable of betrayal. If Hell wouldn't accept his aid then it was their loss! He didn't need them! They wouldn't give him what he wanted anyway! So then who could?

He braked harshly and turned the car sharply.

He knew of a place where you could get anything. He may not have gone there before but there was always a first time for everything. It took him a few minutes before he recognized where he needed to go but he found it and was out of the car, heading straight for his destination.

Yeah, he knew this place. This was where all this shit began. Right here in this back alley. If he went this way…no…then how about…not there either…okay, what about…yes.

Balling a hand into a fist, he banged his hand on the nondescript metal door and waited.

A slot on the door opened and a voice demanded, "Password."

"I'm a new customer. I don't have one but would like to get one," he said, adrenaline pumping throughout his body. "I need to see Wolf," he added. "I want to make a deal with him. It's about something that I think he would be most interested in."

There was silence on the other end and then the slot slid closed with a snap. Frowning, Nathan banged on the door to Black Market. Not wanting to be turned away, he said loudly, "It's about the Book of Nemesis!"

There was no response and the minutes seemed to drag on and on. Becoming frustrated with the lack of response, Nathan began to think he was wasting his time and was preparing to leave when the door finally opened.

There was a black man there, gun leveled on him and dark eyes boring into him. Without a word, the man with a fro hawk gestured with the gun to enter.

Adjusting his jacket, Nathan entered into the lion's den with all the confidence of a well off businessman. He didn't get far in when he was met with—what the fuck was that?

Beady eyes peered down at him with unabashed greed and deep, heavy breaths made this large, scary monster expand to even greater size. The suspenders seemed out of place though…

"You mentioned about a deal?" the monster asked pleasantly.

"I did," Nathan nodded, removing his Yankees' cap and exposing the large afro he had that escaped its confines with an audible "poof!"

"Explain it to me," the monster that Nathan suspected was…Wolf Black said. At that point, Wolf lifted up a small glass of some kind of alcoholic beverage and sipped at it with the ease of an experienced drinker.

"It's simple. I want Charlotte White," Nathan stated.

If this Wolf had eyebrows, Nathan was sure he would have raised them. "That's a tall order. What do you have that I would want in return?"

"I can get you something worth more than seven billion souls," Nathan said, smirking.

"And that is?" Wolf asked though Nathan knew that the monster already knew what he was about to offer.

"The Book of Nemesis," Nathan declared. "I know exactly where it is and I can get it."

"A very bold claim," Wolf said. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"I can get it to you tonight," Nathan declared.

"That's not a good enough assurance," Wolf stated as he turned his back on him. Ooh, this was really pressing Nathan's buttons. No one turned their back on him! "I'm going to need some collateral. A retainer if you will."

"What…sort of collateral?" Nathan questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, nothing much. A token, really, a trifle. You wouldn't even miss it," Wolf said airily. "I'm thinking about something…soul sized, if you know what I mean." At this point, Wolf turned back around to face him. "You come back here with the Book of Nemesis and I will relinquish all claims to your soul."

"Can you get that in writing?" Nathan demanded, knowing already that if you got involved with a business transaction, you always get it in writing. Wolf grimaced and Nathan was proud to note that this was not something he wanted to hear.

"Very well. You get me the Book of Nemesis and Charlotte White, as well as your soul, is yours," Wolf grounded out. "I'll get the…paperwork."

Nathan's smirk widened.

* * *

Barely a few minutes after their guest had left, Wolf had his eyes trained on the door. Beside him, Jay was silence and Wolf was enjoying it. It wasn't often that you got to share a friendly silence with just any—

"You ripped that off from _The Little Mermaid_, didn't you?" Jay said.

"It was perfectly original!" Wolf declared, glaring at his employee.

"Right. Be careful because I think Disney is going to sue," Jay retorted.

"Why don't you keep your bitch mouth shut?" Wolf snarled. Regaining his composure, he returned his gaze to Black Market's entrance. "On another note, it may be that we won't need those lackeys of Heaven's anymore."

"That means?" Jay asked.

"They have at least one more use that we can utilize," Wolf stated. "Get your guns and Breaking Benjamin playlist ready Jay. We might be getting lucky tonight."

* * *

Damien knew he could be doing things right now…but why did he have to be up on the surface just because that mortal that his father liked so much demanded it? He had a war to do, you know!

Still, it was a bit of a surprise to find himself in City Hall where Charlie was at the side of a very deceased Bain. There was nothing quite like that coppery smell of blood that could liven up your day like a cup of coffee. And Bain was in a puddle of his own brand. Seeing the knife that Charlie held in her hand, he had a good feeling as to why that blood was pooling about.

"So, did you finally do it?" he asked, receiving a dark glare as a reply. "I see. So why am I up here?"

"I want to know who did this," Charlie hissed.

"It's a simple enough answer but we'll have to wait until the morning orientation," Damien said dismissively. "He's a damned soul already so he's bound to be there. Where else is someone like him going to go? Detroit?"

"I know that your sense of smell is superior to most," Charlie said. "You also smell things that aren't perceived by humans. Whoever killed him…you can find out who it was can't you?"

"What am I, a greyhound?" Damien retorted.

The next thing he knew, Charlie was gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him down so their faces were level. "You will do this or I swear that I will make your life so terrible that it will make Heaven look like bliss!"

Odd choice of words at the end but for someone like Damien, Hell was heavenly while Heaven was hellish. The way Charlie's eyes appeared almost fiery, Damien figured that if it was to keep the peace, he might as well bite the bullet because right now, Charlie looked like she had every intention of following through with her threat.

He didn't want to know just what she would consider making "Heaven look like bliss," and he didn't want to find out either.

"Fine, but just this once," he tried to at least make it sound like he had more important things to do. Pulling away from the distraught woman and taking a deep breath, he took in as many scents as possible, his demonic brain rifling through them for anything that stood out.

Outside of the usual mortals who came here every day, one of which was Kyle, only two stood out. The source of one of the unique scents was right there next to Charlie. The blood, the pride, the putridness of that organism that was Bain Cynis stood out in stark contrast to lazy Mexican workers and lazy government employees. That left the last one and that one…

Hmm, he smelled…ink. Ink like from money, which was something that seeped in to his nostrils whenever someone opened their wallet. From there he detected greed. A common enough sin, he supposed but there was something else there, something on the tip of his tongue. Wait…

Money ink, greed…and fetus. That's what he smelled. There could only be one…

"Wolf Black," he said.

Charlie blinked up at him, no doubt surprised. "How…?"

Ah, she must be thinking about what Wolf looked like before all this started. "A few hours ago, I got a report that there has been a change with that financial upstart. He's grown in power recently and it seems like your boy toy was trying to dispense with him himself. He didn't stand a chance."

"I'll kill him," Charlie seethed.

"You'll do no such thing," Damien snapped at her. "Right now you are very much mortal. How do you think you will stand against something that has satanic powers and will not hold back against you? It's suicide at this point and you still have a role to fulfill in the future. I forbid you from going after Wolf Black and if I have to, I will get my father to support me. Do you want that? Do you?"

Charlie looked away from him, back down to Bain. She said nothing as one of her hands gripped the material of the deceased's trenchcoat.

"For the moment, we will do nothing about this," Damien continued. "Bain had no important role, or any role for that matter, in the future Apocalypse. That's why this transgression will be tolerated."

"But he helped you," Charlie growled. "When you were panicking over Heaven getting a Keanu Reeves, he was the one to suggest Agent Smith. He helped me take out those pillar things Heaven brought, even though he almost compromised us several times because he didn't know how to sneak up to an army. He…he wore that mask you wanted him to wear! You owe him."

"I owe him nothing," Damien said. "Did you ever discuss his terms of service with my father? Because my father is the only one with that kind of authority. Get your act together now. We don't need my father's second hand breaking down due to—"

Charlie was in his face again only this time she was standing up, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. One of the hands was pressing a blood-stained knife into his person by the handle. "I could rip you apart right now," she hissed.

"I'd like to see you try," Damien said calmly as batted Charlie's arms aware with ease, his demonic strength making the task simple enough. "You brought him into this, remember? Ask yourself, if you hadn't, would he still be alive?"

Charlie seemed to deflate and her grip on the blood-stained knife tightened. Hmm, hadn't that been Bain's once? Well, that disgusting mortal had his blood all over it…with some of Wolf's blood too. Heh, he must have put up a better fight than he had thought to be able to wound Wolf with his reported new powers. Yet it meant nothing in the end, didn't it?

"Someone…has to tell Tammy about this," Charlie said softly.

"Good luck with that," Damien shrugged. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be taking my leave now."

"Will you at least…would you come with me?" Charlie asked. "I don't think…that this is something I can do alone."

"What, you need me to hold your hand?" Damien snarked, tired of this business already. It wasn't his fault that Charlie's boy toy had tried to take on a fetus imbued with satanic powers. The mortal didn't even have to come in the first place! Still, Charlie looked pathetic enough as it is…

It might be entertaining to watch.

"Very well then," he said with a long-suffering sigh. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

Nathan had not been lying when he said he knew how to get into Hell. The same exit that Charlotte and that freak had taken had been the one he had followed them out of when he had first left. Now he was using it to enter Hell once again without having to commit suicide or anything lame like that.

The hardest part, so far, was getting passed all the demons and wailing souls. He did not want any of them to know he was there. Not yet at any rate. That of course brought up the question of how he would be getting out of here with one of the most powerful artifacts in all creation without anyone noticing. Bah, he'd worry about it when it was pertinent.

However, he was successful, as he knew he would be. Most of the light in this place was given off from fire and magma…or was it lava? The difference was eluding him at the moment. Anyway, his dark skin allowed him to blend more into the shadows though a time or two a demon seemed to pick up on his presence.

Nevertheless, he made it into Satan's palace without incident. From there it was a stroll to the throne room where he had seen Satan last stash the Book of Nemesis. Hopefully Satan had forgotten about it and it was still there, under the seat of the throne itself.

Along the way, the demons that populated the palace itself noticed him but did nothing to approach him. For a moment, Nathan was reminded of Bain's words, of how he was a traitor and would never be trusted. He could see the distrust in their eyes and it further irritated him. Well, whatever! He wasn't concerned about these demons like the ones that were outside. They could all go to…never mind that since they were already in Hell.

Still didn't do much to appease his anger. Didn't they know how much he could have offered them? Well it was their loss. At least Wolf was more receptive to him.

He was tired of playing by everyone else's rules. Playing by everyone else's rule had never gotten him anywhere before. If he wanted Charlotte and she wouldn't come to him willingly, well, it was time to stop playing mister nice guy. He'd show them all what Nathan Wilkes was made of.

Finally, he entered the throne room but paid no mind to the décor. No, all of his attention was focused on the throne where his prize laid. A quick look around revealed that no one else was in here but Nathan didn't want to stick around and risk being caught. He needed to do this fast and without anyone becoming suspicious.

Or at least more suspicious than they already were.

He reached the throne, sliding a hand on its seat as he sought out a gap or anything that would expose the hollow space within it. He had witnessed Satan himself lift up the seat as if it belonged to a toilet of some kind and knew that somewhere around here he would find some kind of grip that he could take advantage of. Come on, come on, he knew there was something…

Aha! There! He could feel a crease in the stone and he knew with certainty that this was the break he was looking for. It was right about where Satan had grabbed it, or it appeared so from his memory of it.

There was only one way to find out if it was.

He wedged his fingers as far as he was able and pulled up with all his might. Barely a centimeter the throne's seat lifted and Nathan was already maxing out his strength. He had to pull harder! Lift up higher! Come on man! You can do better than this!

He almost fell backwards as his grip slipped and the seat fell back into place with barely a plop. The noise scared Nathan and he looked around to see if there was any commotion. A heartbeat passed and then two before Nathan relaxed only ever so slightly.

Man that thing was heavy! Heavier than what he had been led to believe. Yet Satan had lifted it up…oh that's right. Satan wasn't human but Nathan was. Fuck man. What was he going to do? He needed to prove himself to Wolf that he could do this thing during this one night.

Looking around for something to prop up against the seat, he found nothing though he did brace his shoulder against the dark rock for another try. This time he lifted it up just enough to maybe slide a hand in but nothing more. Muscles straining against the incredibly heavy weight, he had to put it down before he dropped it again. Okay, he had made some progress there but he was running out of time.

He needed to think of something and think of it quick.

"What are you doing?"

He jerked away from the throne and spun around, heart pounding in his chest as he thought that he had just been caught. Please, oh please don't let that be it. He had come so far already!

Much to his luck, and relief, it was not another demon behind him but Kyle. A smart guy as he last remembered him though why he was helping out the side of Hell instead of Heaven eluded him. Nathan would have figured that Kyle would have chosen the side of God or whatever it was that Jews called him. It was none of his business but maybe…

"Hey, can you help me out?" he asked. "Something of mine slipped in here and I can't lift this thing to save my life."

"How did something of yours 'slip in'?" Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow. Yep, still as smart and sharp as always.

"I'll explain later. Just help me out," he pleaded, giving his best pitiful look. "It's…sensitive," he added.

Kyle continued to stare at him skeptically but after a tense moment, for Nathan, he shrugged and said, "Fine. Whatever."

Nathan didn't yet let out a breath of relief because this could still backfire on him. Once he got his hands on the Book, then he would relax. Bracing himself against the throne much like Nathan was, Kyle was like his reflection as the two worked in sync to raise the seat of the throne up. Now there was enough room to slip an arm in and Nathan did his best to balance the throne's seat against his shoulder while snaking an arm in quickly.

He could see that Kyle wasn't going to last much longer and the last thing Nathan wanted was to crush his arm—wait, was that? It felt like a book…fuck it. He pulled the object out just as he and Kyle could no longer hold the seat up and let it drop. He winced at the loud sound and hoped no one would pay it any mind.

Examining the book in his hand, he took in the leather covering along with the engraved swirls and spirals that formed odd patterns all about it, particularly in the corners. Just above the center of the cover was some small script that consisted of odd symbols and letters he had never seen before. Whether it was gold, silver, or bronze, Nathan couldn't tell; maybe it was none of the above was all. What it definitely was was thick. Hell, it was at least half as thick as the Bible!

Then, before his eyes, the symbols and words began to change, forming more familiar letters, ones he could recognized. Then right there where the old script had been was the word _Nemesis_. He could barely believe what had happened even though he had seen it happen right now and in front of his own eyes.

"Hey, did you get it?" Kyle asked, the Jew rubbing his shoulder to get some feeling back into it. Taking a closer look at what he was holding, Kyle's eyes narrowed. "Hey, isn't that…?"

Nathan jumped into action, tackling Kyle and spinning him around so that his stomach pressed against Kyle's back. Wrapping an arm around Kyle's neck, he got him in a sleeper hold, resisting Kyle's struggles until the young man fell unconscious.

Glancing around, Nathan was thankful that no one had yet to come in but now he had an unconscious Kyle on his hands. This would definitely be suspicious and Nathan knew that as soon as Kyle woke up, he was going to tell everyone about what had happened. Shit, what was he going to do?

Then an idea came to him. Suddenly, Kyle looked less like a burden and more like the key to getting out of here without raising suspicions. Yes, it might just work. Just tell any demon that asked that he was taking Kyle back to Earth on Damien's orders. If they didn't believe that, hint that Satan was behind it. That ought to at least get him to the River Styx no problem.

Biting his lip, he wondered how he was going to hide the Book of Nemesis on himself when again inspiration hit him and he thought he might as well give it a try. He stashed the book on Kyle's person and picked him up bridal style. Eyeing where the Book was, he was satisfied that if anyone looked in the area, they wouldn't see it immediately. Besides, Kyle was a bookworm if he remembered correctly. Him having a book on his person wouldn't be a big deal.

So he figured.

It was a bit of struggle balancing Kyle's body while trying to open a heavy door like all the ones you found in this place and by the time he was walking down a corridor, he was already tired and sweaty. It was most likely exertion but there was some anxiety in there too; he was carrying Damien's living sex doll, and let's face it that's what Kyle was, and that would attraction some attention.

And attention it did get but much to Nathan surprise, it was all passing. Was that contempt he saw in all those eyes? It made him want to gouge them all out but that would wait for later. He was not some bottom feeder; he was at the top. He was rich and powerful on Earth and he would transfer it all back to whatever afterlife he would have.

But for now he would tolerate it. It would change, though, he was confident about that.

Luckily, he didn't run into anyone would stop and ask him questions, at least not until he left the palace. Outside it, he was able to give out the half-assed excuse that he was taking Kyle back up to Earth on Damien's orders and after that it was smooth sailing to the River Styx. Man, this was going better than he thought he would. There was no way nothing would bring him down from this high he was feeling.

He reached the docks to the boatmen that trafficked up and down the river of magma/lava.

"What are _you_ lookin' at?"

Nothing could bring him down now.

* * *

Tammy didn't take the news very well.

"You're lying!" the hysterical girl cried, pointing a finger at Charlie accusingly. "You're lying!"

If only she was. Oh, if only she was… Please do not make this any more difficult than it already was.

And Damien? Wipe that smirk off your face before she did it for you.

"I…I know you don't believe me and if I were you, I wouldn't believe me too," Charlie said, not looking her youngest sister in the eye.

"You're lying," Tammy continued to say, shaking her head from side to side. "I don't believe you. You're lying…"

"Please Tammy, I saw…I saw him," Charlie swallowed. Why was this so hard? Telling Tammy that Bain had been in an accident on his way here…sure, it wasn't the complete truth but would telling her that Bain was killed by an aborted Satanic fetus that had grown in power and strength recently be any more believable? She could scarcely believe it herself but she had been there and seen the truth.

This way, it was much easier to accept. Accidents happened to people, both good and bad. What's to say that Bain didn't have an accident?

By now the younger girl was dissolving into sobs, still in denial though that resolve was weakening. Charlie figured that the girl was asking herself why Charlie would lie about something like this and that Charlie rarely lied about "family matters." She did more omitting than actual lying. But of course there had to be another explanation but why couldn't she think of one? Was her sister telling her the truth? Charlie wasn't the best at reading people outside of what was obvious but her sister was so much more open about her emotions than she was.

Really, Charlie wanted to say that this was some horrible prank she was pulling and that Bain was in the next room over. That wasn't the case, and she knew it.

She wanted to reach out and wrap her arms around her youngest sister but she wasn't sure it would be accepted. Tammy was not the little girl who she had moved back to this town with her all those years ago. She was more rebellious now, and against all Charlie tried to ingrain in her, more self-centered. She hid things from her big sister now. Both little things and big things.

Charlie was unable to hold back a tear as she said, "I'm sorry," to her little sister again.

Tammy was unable to take anymore as she ran out of the family and up the stairs. A loud bang resounded throughout the house as Tammy slammed her bedroom door shut.

"Well, that went better than I thought it would," Damien said.

"Don't you say a damn thing," Charlie spat. "I need…to check up on her."

"Later. Very much later," Damien stated. "You're going to be real busy, real soon."

"Fuck you," Charlie seethed.

"Do you think you're the only one who has lost someone close to them?" Damien asked harshly. "You may have had more than your fair share of loss and suffering but that is no excuse for you to ignore your responsibilities. Remember, you're the new Beelzebub. You have obligations to my father that require you to fulfill them. There will be plenty of time to mourn later."

"You truly have no empathy, do you?" Charlie stated.

"Look, I'll give you some time for some Ben & Jerry's but no more than that," Damien said, turning away from her. "If you want to avenge that putrid, Commandment-breaking, sin-corrupted organism, you first have to help me triumph over Heaven so that we can take down Wolf once and for all. Wallowing in a puddle of mortal effuse will not accomplish any of that."

Once again, Charlie found herself glaring at the Antichrist but her fury died soon enough. Slumping in on herself, she pulled out Winslow, eyeing the cool metal with about as critical an eye as its former owner. The fact that this knife was considered a friend by said owner was kinda sad when you thought about it.

"How long do I have for the Ben & Jerry's?" she asked.

* * *

In a place like Heaven, it was hard to know if it was night or day. Everything was in perpetual daylight but when you had a mortal body, you could feel exhaustion and a need for sleep.

Despite everything that had happened so far, Gary found that he couldn't bring himself to feel tired or sleepy or anything else like that. His mind was still running like a computer on standby, processes continuing to work even though nothing was being utilized.

Was he contemplating the meaning of life? What was the value of mortals? Why bad things happened to good people and good things happened to bad people? Or maybe it was something much simpler. Something more basic. Like what time it was? Was he hungry? Was he missing his parents?

No, it wasn't anything as complex or philosophical as the former examples nor was it simple things like that latter ones.

What he was thinking about was…what was really going on?

He knew that he shouldn't have doubt with the angels all around him who were doing their best to preserve his and everyone's way of life. They had good intentions though they were prone to overreacting and everything. He should trust that they knew what they were doing. That this wasn't the first crisis they had. He meant, they once had one of their own try to take over everything; everyone knew that story. So they had cause for some overreaction. Really they did.

But something was sticking out like a sore thumb to him. Something that none of the angels had ever done anything to try and clear up. It was bugging him, keeping him awake and everything and he just…he just wanted to know!

What did Wolf Black have to do with any of this?

It was little things, like how Damien seemed to be heading in the direction of where one of Wolf's stores were. And then there was Eric Cartman's story. Damien, the guy who was his opposite in this whole mess, was paying Wolf visits. Or at least a visit. Why? Gary found that he couldn't accept the whole "Beast from the Earth" explanation. Gabriel and everyone just jumped to the first thing that made sense to them and didn't consider other alternatives.

He didn't like that, the emotional jumping to conclusions stuff. There were plenty of reasons on Earth why you didn't do that.

Now that he thought about it, how did they come to the conclusion that Damien was trying to start the Apocalypse early? He hadn't heard from their sources himself. Didn't know who they were or who was part of their intelligence service. Why had Damien been heading over to Black Market in the first place when they had intercepted him?

He was noticing that he had been going along with a lot of stuff. Stuff that he was only now having second thoughts about.

"Hey, what are you doing up so late? Or early. Can't really tell." Gary looked to his side as Kenny took a seat right next to him. The other blond looked at him meaningfully with those blue eyes of his.

"Just…thinking," Gary shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

"What about?" Kenny asked. "Is it about that golf club? Because the guys still haven't figured that one out yet."

"No, well, maybe a little about that club," Gary admitted. "Actually, I'm wondering why someone like Wolf Black is involved with all this."

"Well, you heard them. He's one of those beasts, isn't he?" Kenny replied with a question. "You…don't believe it, don't you?"

"No," Gary sighed.

"Ah. I was wondering if I was the only one," Kenny said.

"I'm also thinking about everything else," Gary said. "Not just that golf club or Wolf. Everything. Everything that we've been told about Damien and his plans."

"Something doesn't seem right?" Kenny hazard.

"Yeah. I guess you could say that," Gary said.

"Hmm. The way they keep talking about the Apocalypse, it's planned," Kenny said, musing out loud. "I bet Satan's involved with the whole thing. And knowing how Satan is with Damien…heh."

"What?" Gary asked, looking curiously at the other blond.

"I don't know why I didn't think of this before," Kenny chuckled. "Satan dotes on Damien in a…maternal way. At least when he's not busy doing everything else he's contractually obligated to do. But when he puts his foot…hoof down, he really puts it down. Damien doesn't dare cross him."

"So…the only way Damien would have a bunch of demons with him in broad daylight is because his father allowed it?" Gary guessed.

"That would be my guess," Kenny nodded in agreement. "I've been caught up in all the crap going on I haven't taken the time to really think about it. It's kinda obvious why Michael and the others want the Book of Nemesis. I mean, who wouldn't? But some of what Damien has said, at least face to face with us, it's odd."

"What do you think it all means?" Gary wondered.

"Don't know…but I want to find out," Kenny said, determination in his eyes. "You know, I think I'm starting to see it. When we were young, growing up, going to school, I probably came off as an asshole to you and I guess I was amazed at how you could attract people to you. In a platonic way, I mean. Kyle went to you for advise, Kyra hangs off your every word, you even spent time with less savory people in our school. I think I see now what they did too."

"Thanks?" Gary said, not knowing what else to say to that. Honestly, he was blushing here!

"Don't mention it," Kenny waved the thanks away. "You're a really good guy. I see that now. Guess I was more of an asshole than I thought. Heh. We were all young once, I suppose. But yeah, I think it's time we stop accepting facts at face value and start some investigating of our own."

"What are you going to do?" Gary asked.

"I'm going to have a chat with that…angel whose name starts with an O," Kenny said. "Dang…what is his name again? Something complicated, I know that much."

* * *

There was a bang on the door and Wolf looked irritably at it. A casual sniff of the air, though, told him that it wasn't a regular. Hmm, could that mean that…? No…impossible…but extremely convenient if it was.

"Answer that," he ordered Jay, hiding out of sight just in case. He was still getting used to these more powerful senses. No need to find out if he was wrong at such a crucial time.

Jay was gone but for a moment but then his loud voice called out, "It's that guy from before…and he's carrying some honky!"

What was the meaning of this?

Now Wolf's curiosity was reared, as well as some irritation. If it was Nathan, why had he brought a, here he was quoting, "honky" with him? Stomping into sight, Wolf scowled at the sight of a haunted-looking Nathan holding…Kyle Broflovski?

"Is this some kind of human sacrifice?" he demanded. Because that would be so cool.

"Naw, he's a present," Nathan said as he placed Kyle on the floor and began to dig through his clothing. "_This_ however…"

Wolf inhaled sharply as his small eyes widened. It…it couldn't be…but he could feel that it was. He could _feel_ it. It was a thick leather bound book but there was this otherworldly quality to it. He reached out with a large hand, hoping to touch it when Nathan held it back.

"Nuh uh, we had a deal, remember?" Nathan stated, eyeing him coldly.

Damn written agreements! Damn this guy for being smarter than his customer base! And damn…okay, he couldn't think of a third thing but once he did, he would think it! Damn it!

"Fine, fine, I release all claims to your soul, etcetera, _gimme gimme gimme_!" Nathan tossed the book over to him and Wolf snatched it out of the air, observing the book greedily. "This is ancient writing," he almost gasped. "A language that existed before man first walked the Earth! How do I _know_ that?"

"I got the same impression," Nathan shrugged. "It also changed writing on me when I was looking at it."

"So is this it? The Book of Nemesis?" Jay asked, gun at ready.

"It has to be! It says Nemesis right here!" Wolf exclaimed. "I can't wait to see what's inside it!"

Without further ado, that's what he did. He opened it to a random page, Jay and Nathan peering from either side of him out of curiosity. The three of them watched as the obscure and ancient symbols and letters began to change into a more modern (coughEnglishcough) language.

"_The three conspirators opened the Book and read aloud from it_," Wolf read aloud.

Silence for a second and then, "You can't be serious," Jay said.

"'_You can't be serious,'_ _spoke the militant one_," Wolf read.

"Hey, it actually says that!" Nathan exclaimed, eyes wide.

"'_Hey, it actually says that!' said the traitorous one_," Wolf read. Stopping and blinking, Wolf exclaimed, "Holy shit! We're reading about what's happening right now! Everything we say, everything we do, is happening right now and it's also happening right now in the Book!"

"'_Holy shit! We're reading about what's happening right now! Everything we say, everything we do, is happening right now and it's also happening right now in the Book!'_ Jay took his turn reading out loud. "Whoa. Look at what it calls you!"

_Realized the aborted one._

Wolf growled angrily at that.

"'_The…was furious at the title he had been bestowed by the Book,'_" Jay continued to read.

"How about you stop reading, jackass!" Wolf snarled at his one and only employee.

"'_How about you stop reading, jackass!' said the aborted one_," Nathan read.

"La la la la la la la!" Had it not been for Jay and Nathan catching the Book before it dropped into a free-fall, the most powerful artifact in all creation would have slammed against the tiled floor of Black Market.

Snarling, Wolf said, "That's it! I'm not going to take this from a book! Somebody have a pen? I need a pen!" When a pen was presented, Wolf didn't care from whom, he snatched it and scratched out the word "aborted" and replaced it with "magnificent." "Ha! Take that you pathetic excuse for a gospel!" Wolf crowed as he slammed the Book shut.

"That was…petty," Nathan said.

"Yeah, real…what's the word?" Jay agreed though he paused in the middle of his own reproach.

"Childish?" Nathan suggested.

"Yeah! That," Jay agreed.

"Why don't you both shut up?" Wolf snapped, not wanting to admit that he was had done was indeed…childish. Opening the Book of Nemesis back up, and strangely enough to the same page as before, he frowned at what he saw.

It seemed like every time it had used to say "aborted one" was now replaced with "magnificent one." Flipping through a few pages, and catching a line that said, "_The magnificent one skimmed through the pages of the Book to examine the changes he unknowingly made_," he noticed that every single reference to him had been changed!

"It's true," he whispered, "whatever you write does change everything." His snout curled into a smirk. "Oh this is too good to be true! And don't even _think_ about reading that part out loud."

Both Jay and Nathan clamped their mouths shut.

"So if everything you write in this thing comes true, then does that mean that if…" Nathan began to reason out.

"Yes, yes, you put in that you and Charlie White get together, it will come true," Wolf acknowledged begrudgingly. "But more importantly, I have the power, the absolute power, to change the course of this war I've created so that victory is _mine_!"

"You mean, you're the one that's behind all this?" Nathan stared at Wolf.

Not bothering to acknowledge that question, Wolf continued, "It's all coming into place. It's time to bring this all to a close." With the pen that he now wielded, he began to write in the margins of the Book everything that he wanted to change.

He was interrupted in his diabolical task by a moan as somebody came to.

"What the heck hit me?" Kyle groaned as he sat up, eyes blinking blearily as he took in the sight before him. Taking in the trio in front of them, one a very demonic-looking fetus who was holding a certain Book and a pen in his hands, he snapped into complete awareness and swore, "Oh shit!"

"Quick! Gag him and bind him!" Wolf ordered, Jay and Nathan springing into action immediately.


	20. Hell on Earth

Author's Note: A long wait, certainly but the length of this chapter should make up for it, shouldn't it? I found that there was a lot I wanted to do with it so yeah, there's a shitload of stuff crammed in here. Plot, filler, and twists. Now, there's something in this chapter I want to mention and due to what's happened in the last few months, it may be a bit controversial. Maybe. I've been planning to have such a scene put into this story but then the shooting at Newtown happened and it seemed inappropriate. Kept it in though because…well, you'll see.

Anyway, there's another scene in here that I wanted to thank **ShadowMajin** for. Thanks for taking the time out of your busy day to help out. There will be more explanation about that at the bottom.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park, Breaking Benjamin's _The Diary of Jane_ and other songs.

Warning: language, violence, death, inappropriateness/insensitivity to tragic events

Hell on Earth

Kyle swore that there was someone or something out there that was out to get him. Seriously. Why was all this shit happening to him? What had he done wrong in a past life to deserve all the shit he's gone through? It wasn't fucking fair!

None of that, of course, changed the fact that here he was tied to a fucking chair watching a morbid version of the three stooges rewrite the future.

"Okay, okay, stop bugging me! There! During the next and final battle Charlotte White's going to notice your prowess on the battlefield and fall madly in love with you. Happy?"

"About damn time! I'm not about to let you fuck me out of what's mine you big, purple…whatever you are."

"Forgetting something?"

"Right, right, there. Now you'll have the power to kill every man, woman, and child on this planet and you get Australia. Consider it a bonus for all your years working for me."

"Sure, stick me with a third world country. Whatever, I'll take it."

"Hey, why does he get land?"

"Because, Nathan Wilkes, he's a loyal employee and has worked awfully hard…with lots of complaints of course. If he didn't complain so much, I'd give him something like South America or Africa. Besides, I don't owe you anything more than what we already agreed upon."

Kyle kept his eyes on the Book of Nemesis, always flinching each time the monster that he now knew to be Wolf put pen to paper and changed everything that was to come so that it fit _his_ vision. It was a wonder that he was still conscious right now though this sock they crammed into his mouth was stretching his jaw more than it should. A strip of duct tape kept the sock in his drying mouth.

"There. That's enough changes for now," Wolf announced, shutting the Book of Nemesis with an audible snap. "I'll do more later. Changing the future is so tiring."

"Can't I get one more thing?" Nathan pleaded.

"We'll see," Wolf said dismissively. "Now there's something more pressing that needs to be taken care of. We need to provoke Heaven and Hell into fighting each other sooner rather than later. Fortunately, I have just the plan to do it."

"Can't you write it down in that?" Nathan asked, gesturing to the book in Wolf's large hand.

"I will!" Wolf said defensively. "I just need to set things into motion! Jay! Find out where those stooges are and terminate them. I have no use for them but they'll serve me at least once. Get your M-16s and mow them all down. Kill them all so that no one will be able to convince those fools in Heaven that something else is up. Also, be sure to plant this." The purple, scaly giant held out an inverted cross that looked remarkable like the one that Kyle had seen Damien wear.

"I got it, I got it," Jay said, snatching the cross and stuffing it in a pocket. "You better not write my death down or anything while I'm gone."

"Please, we have a deal. Do I look like the type who would double cross you like that?" Wolf scoffed.

Jay gave him a look.

"Fine! I give you my word I'm not going to screw you over. Now get going!" Wolf grumbled.

Kyle continued to watch as Jay vanished into a backroom, leaving him with Nathan the traitor as he was calling him in his head and Wolf. He didn't like the sound of any of that and he began to squirm in his bindings. His struggles gained him the attention of none other than Wolf who sauntered over to him like he ruled the world.

"I have to say that it's a pleasant surprise to not only get the Book of Nemesis but my own half-brother's little sex toy," Wolf gloated. "I at least have some leverage in the off chance that dumbass figures out what's up. I always find that a meat shield, such as yourself, comes quite in handy should our dear Antichrist come thundering in like a knight in shining armor. He'll have to go through you to get to me."

Kyle glared heatedly at Wolf, grunting and mumbling around his gag.

"What's that? I can't hear you," Wolf mocked, holding a hand up to where an ear should be. "You're going to have to speak up," he continued as he plucked at a corner of the duct tape then viciously ripped it off.

OW! Son of a bitch! That hurt! Fuck!

The sock was roughly pulled out of his mouth and tossed aside onto the floor. Kyle hoped that that wouldn't be going back into his mouth soon. Working his jaw to get some feeling into it, Kyle did his best to wet his mouth before he spoke to a waiting Wolf.

"You know…it doesn't matter what you do," Kyle said. "Because in the end you're still a fetus. One that was cast away before it was even born. So no, you're not really Damien's brother. You're just something that never caught on to the fact that it was dead. Whether that's your drive to live or sheer stupidity…I'm thinking it's the latter. I think you were and are too stupid to realize that you're not supposed to be alive."

"And that makes you better than me? That you were born and I wasn't?" Wolf growled at him. "If I didn't want you as a contingency plan, I'd crush your tiny little head with my fingers. You're not comprehending the position that you're in, Kyle Broflovski. It's hopeless, you're finished, you haven't got a pray—"

"Okay, that's _Nightmare Before Christmas_ you're ripping off," Kyle interrupted. "Isn't there anything that you've done that's even original?"

Wolf narrowed his eyes at him and brought a large hand up. He flicked a finger against Kyle's forehead and that was enough to send both Kyle and the chair he was tied to falling backwards onto the floor. Kyle was breathless after he slammed into the floor and he stared up at the ceiling, trying to get his breath back. Towering over him, Wolf glared down at him.

"You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to write your death down. That's what I'm doing to do," Wolf said ominously. "After both Heaven and Hell are mine, that's when it will happen. How would you like a case of Instant AIDS, hmm? Something to strike you dead quickly and give Eric Cartman the chance to laugh at you one more time? Nyah, it's going to have to be slower than that after the way you've insulted me. Trust me, I'll think of something and it will be creative. You have my—"

"Hey Wolf! You've got a problem back there!" Nathan called out. A thumb jerked in the direction of a large metal door but what was behind it, Kyle had no clue.

"What the fuck is it now?" Wolf growled as he stomped over to the door and practically ripped it off. "WHAT!" he roared at this green-colored, see-through person who looked like a midget from where Kyle was.

"Oh Mr. Wolf! It's me, Pip! I just wanted to tell you that the other souls and I have formed a union. We want better conditions, better pay, and time off from this imprisoned soul bit you have us going through."

Pip? You mean Pip from elementary school? That Pip? Wow, Kyle hadn't seen him…since he died. Huh. Wow. He hadn't even noticed that Pip had been gone all that time. Really makes you think about how quickly time flies.

"Again?" Wolf cried. "Damn it, where's my union buster? Jay! Get back here and—"

There was an echoing slam from the front of Black Market.

"Oh God damn it!" Wolf swore.

* * *

They shouldn't have been surprised, Stan told himself. What were they expecting? That Cartman wouldn't take them up on their offer for breakfast? That he wouldn't take advantage of it and order enough shit that it should clog his arteries without being digested? Seriously, why were they so surprised?

"Screw this, I'm asking for the check," Wendy grumbled. "If anybody wants anything else, they're going to have to pay from their own pockets."

"Aww, don't be like that Wendy!" Cartman complained, amazingly not having his mouth stuffed at this moment.

"I didn't…Jesus, I was only offering a single course! Not five!" Wendy exclaimed.

"Ey! You're a lawyer! You can afford this!" Cartman defended before cramming a piece of jellied toast into his mouth. Everything he said immediately after than came out garbled and accompanied with bits of jelly and crumbs.

"I still don't know why I'm sitting this close to you," Craig said from an entirely different booth.

While still garbled, Stan didn't need a translator to know what Cartman said next. "Shut your goddamn mouth, Craig!" Everyone else was left to try and decipher what that fatass said.

"I think I'm done," Bebe said, nose wrinkled as she pushed her plate of half-eaten eggs and toast away. Apparently, she had gotten a clear view of Cartman's mouth.

"You gonna eat that?" Cartman asked, this time intelligible.

Fuck. Stan placed his fork on his plate and sighed. This was not his idea of a well-rounded breakfast. Anything that involved Cartman was not well-rounded. Honestly, he had forgotten that Cartman had been with them until he had started ordering. He had thought that the others would have had the sense to not bring him along. That and he was used to Cartman not being there for their planning sessions.

This is what he got for assuming that the others were on the alert. Man, it was like he had to do everything around here.

Glancing around, he searched for any sign that Kenny, or even Gary, were there. While it would have been more believable that they would have made some noise if they were here, he still wanted to be sure that those two were around. They weren't but then again he didn't know if those two knew if they were here right now. He didn't recall mentioning this part of their plans to either of them. At the very least, one of them maybe could have pointed them in another direction.

"Ey! What the hell do you think you've doing Clyde?" Cartman snapped, glaring at the guy who was once called the second fattest kid in their class.

"You haven't touched those grits yet," Clyde said.

"Just because I haven't taken a bite of the goddamn grits doesn't mean that I'm not. I'm just working my way up to them," Cartman stated. "Next time to try to eat from _my_ breakfast, I'm eating your goddamn hand. Capisce?"

At this point, Stan was thinking about getting out there if only for some fresh air. And maybe to reset his Cartman tolerance levels. You could only take so much. However, someone beat him to that and Stan found that he was a bit happy to note that it was Kyra and she was heading towards the restrooms.

Stan debated on what he was going to do before doing his best to slip away and go after her. He had been meaning to speak with her all morning but right now was the best chance he had.

Hurrying after her, Stan followed heedlessly into the women's restroom where the only occupant was Kyra and no one else. Only after seeing that there weren't any urinals did Stan realize where he was but he was quick to lock the door after him so that no one else would come in and accuse him of being a pervert.

"What are you doing?" Kyra asked, looking over her shoulder at him from one of the stalls.

"Look, I really need to talk to you," Stan said.

"I thought we did that last night," Kyra frowned at him.

"We did but we didn't get as far as I wanted," Stan said. Taking a deep breath, Stan knew that this was the moment where it all hinged on him getting this right. "I wanted to apologize about that night. You know the one. I'm sorry that I said that I wanted to put my face into Lara Croft's boobs. And I'm sorry that I said that you should have a pair just like her so I could do that to you. And I'm sorry that I said that the Master Chief was gay for the Arbitor. And I'm—"

"I get it, I get it, you finally remembered," Kyra interrupted him, holding a hand up to stop him from speaking.

"But I'm not finished!" Stan protested. "There was a lot more than that!"

"You don't… You don't need to go any further," Kyra said. "I'd like to say that it's about time…but then you wouldn't be you."

"Really? You think…? Wait, what's that supposed to mean?" Stan frowned after picking up on what she had said.

"Nothing," Kyra sighed.

And then Stan found himself standing there, awkwardly waiting for her to say more but she was not speaking when he expected her to. He was tempted to raise an eyebrow or make some gesture to tell her to keep on going but instead settled on asking, "And?"

"And what?" Kyra asked.

"Aren't you going to say anything else?" Stan wondered. "You just said 'nothing' and then nothing else. Weren't you going to say 'it's alright' and, you know, come over to me? Maybe we kiss and make up? Isn't that how these things work?"

Kyra opened her mouth and began to speak but was cut off by a loud bang on the other side of the restroom door.

* * *

The purr of the motorcycle came to an abrupt end as Jay parked it. He was dressed to the nines, as well as to kill. Holsters and straps covered his body, making him look like he was ready for war. Guns, grenades, and even knives were placed just so so that he could grab one and use it with the least bit of resistance.

The only thing that really stood out was an iPod, a small, white wire winding up his chest and forking just under his chin to connect to two individual earbuds. Placing a pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes, Jay completed the ensemble of a badass.

Beside him, floating helplessly were the two girls who he had been taken along on his reconnaissance missions. Their names escaped him at the moment but he could have cared less what they were. They were only here because he was so used to their presence that he had unconsciously brought them along.

"You're not going to do what I think you're going to do," the one on his left said.

"Yep," he grunted, checking his guns one last time.

"But! But don't you think this is…you're going to hurt a lot of people!" the one on his right protested.

"Listen blondie or whatever your name is. I got orders from Wolf, the guy who controls my paycheck." A gun cartridge of bullets was reloaded into a pistol with a snap. "I'm about to get a huge payday too. If the aborted fetus wants me to kill some nobodies, I'll kill them with gusto. It's what I'm being paid for."

"It's Bonnie!" the blonde defended. "And this is insane!"

"You don't go through the military without losing a few screws," Jay shrugged as he got off his motorcycle, strolling towards the diner where his targets were enjoying themselves.

Ignoring further protests, he turned on the iPod, picking a playlist he made specifically for slaughter. He bopped his head at the first few notes of a piano that was followed by the strums of a guitar and bangs of a drum and cymbals. He hummed the tune to himself, getting into the mood.

Once the music had reached a crescendo, he lifted up a booted foot and kicked the diner doors opened.

He ignored the shocked looks directed at him, preferring instead to pull out one of his M-16s and open fired on anything that he saw. As the bullets began to fly, he began to sing to himself as the lyrics to the song he was listening to entered his ears.

"If I had to, I would put myself right beside you, so let me ask, would you like that? Would you like that?" Dishes shattered and food sprayed everywhere while bodies jerked from the lead slugs piercing them. "And I don't mind, if you say this love is the last time. So now I'll ask do you like that? Do you like that? No."

The M-16 continued to blare, Jay turning his body left to right then back left again, spreading out the spray of bullets. Due to the song playing, he was heedless of the screams and those that managed to slip through the music were ignored.

"Something's getting in the way, something's just about to break," Jay continued to sing to himself, and he twisted to aside and shot down a would-be hero trying to come at him from the side. "I will try to find my place in the diary of Jane so tell me how it should be."

Plastic pitchers were decimated under the onslaught, their liquid contents spilling out onto the floor. A waitress was gunned down as she tried to leap for cover, Jay not even looking at her as he took her life. Empty bullet shells rained onto the floor all around him as he made another sweep of the diner. He paused only for a second as he spotted his targets and slowly stalked his way towards them.

"Try to find out, what makes you tick, as I lie down, sore and sick, do you like that? Do you like that?" There was click when he pulled the trigger of the M-16 but Jay didn't sweat it. He dropped the spent weapon and pulled out the second M-16 and renewed his rampage. So far only one had been wounded in the shoulder and, from all appearances, by a stray bullet. It was a guy Jay had seen around before, Craig. A shame he had to be here, eh?

He finished Craig off clinically as he sang the words, "There's a fine line between love and hate and I don't mind, just let me say that I like that. I like that." The body jerked spastically as several bullets entered it simultaneously and was granted mercy while the others around it were targeted.

A woman with black hair flipped herself up and over the booth without being hit but that left a blonde woman in a black jacket looking back at him with terror. He finished her off without a thought then turned on another blonde with curly, almost frizzy hair that was fucking gorgeous and terminated her. Such a fucking waste man.

Without warning, he twisted his waist around, pulling out a handgun and firing it straight into the throat of someone coming up behind him. The name Clyde cycled through his head, Clyde's eyes wide as he slowly fell to his knees. Sparing some mercy, Jay fired another shot, this time into Clyde's head and ended his suffering.

"Something's getting in the way, something's just about to break," Jay continued to sing as he stepped around Clyde's body, backtracking to the front entrance. "I will try to find my place in the diary of Jane." There he managed to cut off the black-haired woman who managed to elude him earlier and opened fired on her with his M-16.

Nailed her. She wouldn't be escaping anytime soon. He paused in his singing, pausing his iPod as well as he listened for any sounds other than moans and cries. Behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw another gorgeous woman, another blonde to be exact and from here he could admire her creamy skin. She was at Craig's side, tears streaking down her cheeks as she begging him to open his. Not too smart, eh?

Another barrage of bullets and there was another one down.

Hmm, by his count, there were about four or five others he had missed. They had to be somewhere around here. His eyes lit up on the sign that said RESTROOMS followed by an arrow pointing into an alcove. Might as well check that out.

A clacking sound directed his attention to a long counter where a diner employee was brandishing a shotgun. Idiot was loading it now. Jay gave him no opportunity to fire, mowing another would-be hero down. Then he began making his way towards the restrooms, continuing to sing even though his iPod wasn't playing.

"As I burn another page, as I look the other way, I still try to find my place in the diary of Jane." He stopped abruptly and turned on a young woman that was hiding in a booth, so far unharmed but that was about to change.

However, the young woman spoke up quickly, "My name's Jane."

Jay paused, considering Jane's words. Then he said, "Will you put me in your diary?"

"Y-y-yes," Jane stuttered, nodding her head up and down like a bobble head figurine.

Jay stared back at her, eyes boring into her as if searching for any deception. "Okay. You can go." He gestured with the handgun to the door. "Just make sure you put me in your diary."

She nodded again, swallowing and made her way out.

"My last name's Jane," someone spoke up.

A single shot from the handgun and a bullet in the head shut that fucker up. Jay could only be placed in the diary of Jane and no one else's! Not even a dickwad whose last name was Jane!

Jay continued on the warpath to the restrooms, continuing to sing the lyrics with his iPod still off. "So tell me how it should go." Reaching the doors to the restrooms, humming the instrumental, he pushed on the door the women's and when it didn't open, he fired a couple shots into the lock.

Instead of entering, he pulled out and unpinned a couple of grenades. Kicking open the door, he tossed both in and stepped away, checking out the men's while ignoring the explosion in the women's.

* * *

Stan had been listening on the gunfire on the other side of the door, his heart pounding in his chest. Christ, someone was shooting up the diner! This was not good.

"Is that what I think it is?" Kyra asked quietly beside him.

"Just stay quiet," Stan whispered. "If he doesn't hear us, he won't come over here."

There was a pregnant pause on the other side of the door, the two occupants holding their breaths as they waiting. The silence was interrupted periodically by single gunshots, telling the pair that the carnage on the other side was still going.

Stan's heart almost stopped as he picked up the sound of booted footsteps heading their way.

Grabbing Kyra, he did his best to move quietly into one of the stalls, sending up a prayer that whoever was on the other side of the door would not come in. Ironically, it was him who almost screamed girlishly as gunshots blasted out the lock. By then, both of them were in a stall, the door almost closed in front of them. There was a small gap that allowed him to see the door to the restroom and Stan almost gasped as the door flew open suddenly.

Instead of someone coming in, something worse was tossed in. Stan didn't need to stop to know that those were _grenades_ flying through the air.

He reached around Kyra to pull the stall door shut and lock it before plopping his ass on the toilet, pulling Kyra down in his lap. Kyra squeaked in surprise but Stan was still moving as he lifted his legs up and braced his feet against the stall door. His eyes bulged as a grenade happened to roll into their stall but some quick thinking allowed him to lower one leg and kick it out just before the detonation.

He could feel the shock of the following explosion, fire licking at them from around the metal door. Stan slapped a hand around Kyra's mouth with one hand, hoping to prevent at least one of them from giving away that they were still alive.

As for himself? He would have to trust that he wouldn't be a pussy and whimper. He could do that, right?

* * *

Wendy was miraculously still alive but she was seriously hurt. She had propped herself up against the diner's counter, blood pooling around her as the seconds ticked by.

How had things come to this? All she had wanted was to have a simple high school reunion where she could rub into her former classmates' faces the fact that she was going places. Showing off essentially.

And now here she was, helping out Heaven in some interdimensional war and now the victim of a seemingly random mass shooting. This wasn't how her life was supposed to end. Or for the others. And the people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The pain was dulling though, which could either be a good thing or a bad thing. Why was shit like this always occurring? It was like this town was a big magnet for all sorts of weird crap and each incident was more bizarre than the last!

If anything, someone shooting up the diner was practically normal considering what else had occurred in South Park.

She shouldn't have come here, come back, whatever. She especially shouldn't have agreed to help out Heaven if it meant her sticking around this forsaken town longer than she had been, which it did. She was supposed to be making a life for herself right now, making a change in the world. Show that her life had some meaning.

Instead, here she was, her life literally bleeding out of her.

There were footsteps coming from the bathroom, the shooter returning into the main dining area. Wendy didn't have the heart to care anymore. What was the point? She continued to listen to the footsteps as they headed into the kitchen. There were a few more shots, whatever cooking staff back there that had been hiding now suffering the fates of everyone else in the building.

The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. What was he doing back there? There was some rustling, as if the shooter was looking for something. What could it be? Was it the reason why he had come in here in the first place?

Her vision was becoming blurry, her body heavier and heavier as the time passed. Her thoughts were now beginning to wander on to other things, recalling incidents in her life that she was proud of and others she wasn't as. Was this what they meant when they said your life flashed before your eyes?

The shooter suddenly landed right in front of her, as if he had jumped off the counter behind her. Digging into a pocket, he dropped a necklace that Wendy noting as having a cross. He was whistling now as he left the diner, as if he hadn't a care in the whole world. Like wholesale slaughter meant nothing to him.

As his whistle faded away, signs of life began to emerge. Wendy's head fell to a side, facing the restrooms where Stan and Kyra were coming out of, horror and soot on their faces. Were they okay? Good for them.

"Is anybody alive?" Stan called out.

A table somewhere began to rock and fell over, Cartman popping out with a grunt. "Yes, yes, I'm alive hippie. Can't say the same about anybody else."

How had someone as fat as Cartman managed to survive this thing without a scratch? Even in her state, Wendy's mind boggled. She would have said something, but right now her voice wasn't working. It was black along the edges of her vision so…she was starting to lose consciousness.

There was someone else speaking but right now it didn't matter to Wendy. Caring was suddenly something that she found she couldn't do anymore.

However, Stan asking, "Does anybody smell something?" managed to make it through her muddled mind. She observed as Stan trekked over to the kitchen and it was barely a couple seconds later that he was running out of it, snatching Kyra by the arm and screaming, "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

At that point, there was no one in her vision yet all Wendy could wonder was what had scared so Stan so much?

A few seconds, flames engulfed everything.

* * *

Jay was starting up his motorcycle just as he heard the boom from the diner. With a smirk, he revved the engine and glanced back to look at his handiwork.

It may not have been an elaborate setup, but sometimes all you needed was some methane and a spark to create something beautiful and fiery. In this case, he had disconnected a hose that fed gas into a stove and then on second thought he had popped a couple more off. Then he had found some bug spray cans and a couple other things that shouldn't be put into a microwave and, well, set it on an hour.

In all reality, it was just going to be a couple minutes or three. More than enough time to put some distance between him and the diner and still create that Hollywood cliché of walking away from a building as it exploded and not looking back at it. Yeah, technically, he wasn't walking but he had been looking away from the initial explosion.

A glance was all he afforded himself, a quick look to see billowing black smoke and flames licking eagerly out of shattered windows and then he was getting onto his cycle. Pausing, he felt for his iPod and checked out what song he was on. Damn, he was still on _The_ _Diary of Jane_.

Oh well. He could listen to it on his way back to Black Market.

Ignoring the two souls on either side of him, both of whom looked like they had seen a warzone, he pressed play on the iPod and roared off down the street.

"As I burn another page, as I look the other way, I still try to find my place…"

* * *

The return to Hell, specifically Satan's Palace, occurred without much fanfare. Then again, Charlie was not in the best frame of mind to really care. In a hand, she gripped Winslow's handle, a physical reminder of her loss as well as the turmoil she had left Tammy in. Hopefully her little sister would be able to handle herself until she, Charlie, returned.

Charlie didn't have to look at Damien to know that this hadn't impacted him whatsoever. He didn't care one way or another and Charlie found that she couldn't help but resent him for it. She didn't know why but she did.

At the first opportunity, she split from Damien's side to head for her quarters, a.k.a. Beelzebub's old digs, for some time to try and regain what little composure she had. The Ben & Jerry's Milk Chocolate Cookie would only last so long and the last thing she wanted to show to any demon was weakness. It was something she couldn't afford to do. Damien hadn't given her long enough to get back to her rough and tumble personality before dragging her back so right now some privacy was in order.

Or maybe not because guess who happened to be here?

"I 'ope you don't mind zat I used your room for ze night," Christophe commented, sprawled out on _her_ bed. Sitting upright and getting a better look at her, he frowned and said, "You look like sheet."

Charlie barked out a laugh and sealed her quarters from the outside world. "I thought I looked better than that."

"What 'appened? Tell Christophe," Christophe beckoned for her to take a seat, which she graciously accepted.

"Bain's dead," she stated dully. It wasn't really getting easier to say that. The words still had some impact on her.

Christophe whistled. Charlie hadn't expected him to get down in the dumps or anything, especially since both he and Bain did not have the best relationship. That was, naturally, putting it mildly. At each other's throats was more like it. No, she did not expect any tears to be shed from that quarter.

"What 'appened?" Christophe repeated.

"He tried to go after Wolf Black without knowing that the aborted asshole got a power-up recently," Charlie summed up. "He always did go for the heart of it, metaphorically and literally."

"You know zis for sure?" Christophe asked.

"I had Damien smell around," Charlie shrugged, arms on her knees as she slumped over. "If we can find his soul, we'll be able to get more information about it."

"So why don't you do et now?" Christophe asked.

"Damien's taking care of it," Charlie said. "The bastard should show up for the orientation welcome this morning. Hopefully he'll be snagged before the introductory torture."

She could tell that Christophe wanted to snort at that because the Frenchman fully believed that Bain was going to get what he deserved but he was being delicate to her…state. It was sweet of him, really. At this point, she didn't know what she would do if someone said or did the wrong thing. The only thing certain was that it would be ugly.

Instead of saying anything disrespectful to the dead, Christophe commented, "Zat looks familiar. Is et what I zink et is?" His eyes were peering pointedly at her right hand and there…oh.

"It is," she confirmed, fiddling with Winslow. Maybe it was due to the lighting or something but it was darker. Bain had always treated it better than he had treated people; was the knife in mourning too? That would be so rich. "Pulled it out of his heart."

Christophe showed no reaction to that. He was probably recalled all the times he had been on the wrong end of Winslow and why was she starting to call it by the name its owner had given it? Christ, she was losing her mind over this.

"Would you like me to leave?" Christophe asked quietly beside her.

"No. No, don't," Charlie said. "I don't want to be alone right now…and I don't really trust anybody around here to see me…"

"Zee you like zis," Christophe finished for her. "Do you regret et?"

"Regret what?" she asked.

"Everything. All the bullsheet zat you went zrough wiz 'im," Christophe clarified. "You were like cats and fucking dogs, ze way you two were around one anozzer."

Charlie eyes lowered until they spotted a certain scar on her hand, one that she had gotten years ago and which was still visible to this day. Heh. She had only gotten it by accident, trying to grab a switchblade that had been pulled out. At least it hadn't been Winslow that had been pulled out or that scar would have been much uglier, deeper even.

Bain's best addition to her already impressive collection of scars.

"No," she said at last. "I know this sounds stupid and it makes me look crazy but no. I don't regret it. Not one bit. If I knew then what I do now…I'd still do it all except maybe have some better memories of it. Maybe leave him in Stanford while we sort this Heaven and Hell bullshit out. Other than that, I'd go through it all without a single regret."

"Who is ze closet romantic now?" Christophe teased.

"Shut the fuck up," Charlie playfully punched her one and only friend in the shoulder. Christophe allowed her that one, to her surprise, but she enjoyed it anyway because who knew when the next time he'd let her land a blow on him would be?

"Feeling better?" Christophe asked pointedly.

Pausing to think about it, yeah, yeah she did. Feel better that is. There was still some…pain if you could call it that but it wasn't as bad anymore. Maybe she was saving up for a better time to grieve and then she'd get it all out but for now it would do. She had a war that had to be ended and a certain fetus who needed to be aborted again.

Then she could mourn for things that would never be.

On the plus side, she didn't have to worry about Bain getting the needle anymore.

Both Christophe and her froze up as they heard what sounded like a toilet flushing. And it was coming from her bathroom. There…was a toilet in there? Where the hell was it? She'd had to use the public ones if she wanted to take care of any business she had, and once in the lake of lava, but you mean to tell her there was a toilet _in there_?

Agent Smith emerged, finishing drying his hands with a small towel that he tossed back into the bathroom. The computer program noticed that he was being watched and he excused himself with apologetic politeness. "I apologize but I had some Trojan malware that I needed to unblock and eliminate. I do hope you do not mind that I used your private quarters."

"Screw that, where's the toilet in there?" Charlie demanded.

"By the three seashell decoration," Agent Smith answered simply.

"Those things? Wait, the whole time it was by those fucking seashell things? Fuck!" Charlie swore.

"I hope you know those seashells aren't for decoration. They are for cleaning up after elimination," Agent Smith said. "You…do know how to use the three seashells, correct?"

No Agent Smith, she could not say that she did.

* * *

Damien was perplexed. It was not often that he was but for the moment, he could say with certainty that he was mystified. All in all, there were two reasons for it.

The first was that he couldn't find Kyle. Sniff all he wanted, he couldn't locate the Jew in all of Hell. Had something happen to him? Had he fallen into one of the pools of lava by accident? Had any of the demons outside the palace gotten to him? If it was that last one, there would be hell to pay, no pun intended. Wait, was he hanging around Cerberus? Oh he hoped so, not that he would say that he was worried.

Still, he was so used to having Kyle in easy access that it was almost alien when he couldn't find him.

There was something else, other than Kyle, that was perplexing him…oh yeah, Charlie's boy toy. Yeah, he hadn't shown up for the morning orientation. In fact, according to the records hall, there was no clue as to where Bain's soul was. It was confounding really; if his soul was going to be one of those ghosts that haunted places, it would have shown up in the record. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. Charlie was going to be pissed about that.

So he had two missing persons on his hands and outside of one of them he had no idea, where to start.

Ordering one demon to check on Cerberus, Damien took up the task of informing Charlie about the mysterious whereabouts of her deceased maniac himself. He wasn't looking forward to it but they were going to get back to what was really important and no more of these distractions one way or another.

As predicted, Charlie was pissed.

"What do you mean you can't find him?" her voice boomed, eyes alit with fury.

Damien eyed that knife she was holding in her hand cautiously. While he couldn't really die, it didn't mean that he wanted to receive any pain. He wasn't a masochist, you know.

"It's just what I said. We can't find him and he never showed up to the orientation," Damien repeated.

"Did 'e become a ghost?" Christophe asked from his seat.

"That would have shown up on his record and no, it hasn't," Damien answered, bearing the blunt of Charlie's escalating anger.

"That bastard! Even in death he has to be difficult!" Charlie snarled, pacing from one side of the room to the other.

"Your attachment to this lifeless human is bordering irrational perimeters," Agent Smith said. Huh, so that's where his Anti-Keanu Reeves went to. He had been wondering where he went.

"Say another word and I will find a way to delete your ass," Charlie swore, glaring at the malfunctioning computer program.

"Try to hold yourself back until after we win the war," Damien warned her. "But he has a point, I'm afraid. You have the rest of your life ahead of you. Don't spend it pining over the moron who got himself killed—"

Damien shut up abruptly as the knife that had been in Charlie's hand sliced a small cut on his cheek and bounced off the wall behind him, clattering to the floor nosily. Said arm that had been holding onto the knife was extended before Charlie's body, a death glare settled right on him.

Silence was suddenly looking like a very good idea.

"Calm down Charlie. We shall figure zis all out," Christophe said placatingly. "Zere's only so many places a disembodied soul can go. We'll find 'im, _oui_?"

Charlie took a deep breath, obviously listening to Christophe's words and calming down. Damien wasn't about to risk it even though the cut in his cheek was already healing. There wouldn't be a scar left yet Damien had the feeling that right now, Charlie was capable of far worse.

No sense provoking unnecessary injury, right?

"Fine," Charlie spat out acidly, stalking her way towards the Antichrist. Deciding that moving out of her way was the better part of valor, Damien watched her warily as she picked up the knife off the floor and headed back towards the bed that Christophe was sitting on.

"Is zere anyzing else?" Christophe asked, looking pointedly at Damien. Ah, a helping hand if Damien ever saw one.

"At the moment, no. I will be getting back to business. I recommend that she…cool off a bit before making her presence known," Damien said, slowly moving towards the entrance. Pausing, he felt the need to ask, "By the way, has anyone seen Kyle?"

"Don't you know?" Christophe asked, giving him a look.

"Know what?" he demanded exasperatedly.

"You mean…? I saw Nathan carrying Kyle out last night," Christophe said. "'E said zat et was on your orders."

"I didn't order any such thing," Damien stated, frowning. "Where's Nathan?"

"On Earth. Maybe you can find 'im?" Christophe suggested.

"I'll do that," Damien said, unease clear in his voice. What was going on? Why had Nathan taken Kyle and left Hell? It didn't make any sense to him.

It looked like he was going to have to make a deeper inquiry into this.

* * *

It was either the calm before or after the storm. Or maybe they were in the calm that was actually the eye of the storm and all hell was about to break loose? Kyra was unable to tell which it was but it didn't change the fact that she was still trembling from the ordeal.

Almost everyone was dead. Why? Why had it happened? She didn't know the answer and that's what terrified her. In a senseless bout of violence…and the destruction that followed…why?

There were only four of them left now. Her, Stan, Cartman, and Brittany. Brittany may have been a mirror reflection of her but Kyra couldn't be sure. She looked like she was holding up better than she was but for all Kyra knew, Brittany might have been falling apart on the inside. At least Brittany's legs didn't have a noodle-like quality to them. Kyra had to be sitting on the ground because her own legs weren't supporting her.

Nearby, Stan and Cartman were conversing, not arguing. Both were trying to figure out what to do next. At the moment they were a ways away from the remains of the diner, emergency personal converging at ground zero. They had no idea if the shooter was looking for them or was still going on some kind of rampage so the two males had decided to be safe than sorry and hide out.

That didn't stop Kyra from making a call though. There was only one person she would call and she hoped that he'd be here soon. It was like the whole world was falling apart and there was only one person that she could truly trust in all this.

Gary, where were you? Please come.

Please.

"I think we need to go to the cops," Stan said. "It'll be safer with them."

"What makes you say that Stan? For all we know, that asshole is waiting for us to go to the cops so that he can ambush us and put a cap in our asses!" Cartman retorted.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Stan demanded and the companionability that had been going on between the two was going down the drain.

"Yeah, I do, living," Cartman said. "Everyone's a suspect."

"But you saw the guy, didn't you?" Stan said.

"Yeah, it was some black asshole," Cartman replied.

"So you should know who it is," Stan said reasonably.

"Stan, Stan, Stan, don't you know? All black people look alike!" Cartman chided. "Look over there! Black people! And as EMTs! He could be one of them Stan! He could be one of them and we won't know it until he's filling our bodies full of lead!"

"We have to do something!" Brittany exclaimed. "We're not doing anything just standing around like this!"

"She's right," Stan stated. "Not all black people are going to cause us harm, Cartman."

"What do you know? You're more likely to be injured or killed by a black man. It's scientifically proven," Cartman argued.

"That's just racist," Stan stated.

"Now is not the time to be blinded by pussy liberal ideals, Stan," Cartman exclaimed. "There's an angry black man out there who just shot up a diner and blew it the fuck up for no apparent reason. I think it goes to reason that we wouldn't be safe if we try to go to the police. If he's anything like that robot we had a few years ago that tried to assassinate Sarah Palin, he's an unstoppable killing machine with the synthetic skin of a cop. Or! Or he's like that T-1000! You know, the one that can change form and look like anybody? He could look like…one of you."

"One of…? What about you?" Stan demanded.

"Of course it's not me! I would know if I wasn't!" Cartman proclaimed.

"But how would you _know_?" Brittany asked.

"I…well…of…oh my God." Cartman's eyes widened with realization. "I can't be black! I'm already half-ginger! But the Bronco half cancels that out! If I'm black, then I'm a minority within a minority! I'm Barack Obama! NOOOO—ow! What the hell was that for!"

Stan stilled held his hand balled up, ready to hit Cartman upside the head again. "You were about to give away our position with your melodrama, fatass. You're the one saying we shouldn't bring attention to ourselves."

"You're right. Thank you Stan. But I'm still going to kick you in the nuts for that!" Cartman thanked and then declared.

"Here they are. See? All you have to do is follow the sounds of a self-righteous bigot and bingo," Kenny announced as he came around the corner, gesturing with an arm towards them all as if he was some kind of tour guide. At the blond's side was—

"Gary!" Kyra exclaimed, relieved that some kind of stability had arrived.

"You're right," Gary said, his attention focusing on Kyra first and then the others. "Are you guys all right? There's a fire nearby and—"

"We were almost in that fire," Stan stated, arms crossed. "Some whack job came in and shot the place up before blowing it up."

"Kenny? Is that really you? You're not an angry, socialist black man in disguise are you?" Cartman cut in, looking at Kenny suspiciously.

"What?" Kenny stared at Cartman in confusion.

"Forget him. How'd you find us?" Stan intervened, taking charge.

"I got a call from Kyra. It sounded important. Now I can see why," Gary shrugged in answer, moving around Stan and Gary to come to her side. "Are you all right?" he asked her, worry tinting his voice as he placed a hand on her shoulder. Already she was feeling calmer.

"What? When?" Stan exclaimed.

"Sometime after we stopped here," Kyra said quietly.

"What about the others?" Kenny asked, blue eyes serious.

"They were—" Stan began to answer but was interrupted.

"Some black man killed them all!" Cartman cried out, gesturing wildly with his arms. "It was horrible! I managed to avoid all the bullets, Matrix style—"

"You were hiding under a table like a pussy," Brittany interrupted him.

"I could see that," Kenny said.

"Ey! Shut your Goddamn mouth! That's slander!" Cartman shouted.

"Not if it's true!" Brittany shot back.

"Guys, guys! Calm down!" Gary said. "I know everybody is a bit frazzled and what happened had to have been horrible but we can't be at each other's throats like this."

"Yeah, that's what the black socialist would want!" Cartman agreed vehemently.

"Was there anything he did? Did he say anything?" Kenny asked. "No one barges into a restaurant and shoots the place up for no reason."

"Well, he dropped this," Cartman said, taking out a necklace from his pocket. "Pretty snazzy, ain't it?"

"That's an inverted cross," Kenny stated.

"You mean the black asshole's a Satanist as well as a socialist?" Cartman said.

Ignoring Cartman, Kenny looked straight at Gary. "You think Damien knows what these guys were up to and sent an assassin?"

"Now it makes sense! That asshole Damien's responsible for this!" Cartman said.

"Stop jumping to conclusions fatass," Stan reprimanded.

"But why would he have an inverted cross, huh Stan?" Cartman was now in Stan's face. "Why would some Satanist shoot up a diner that we so happened to be in? Huh? What's your answer to that Stan? Huh? What do you have to say about that?"

Stan stared Cartman down but broke off eye contact first, unable to come up with any other answer.

"You know, if there's an assassin on the loose, we're not safe here," Cartman continued, looking back and forth between Gary and Kenny. "Our mission's compromised. We gotta go to someplace safe, where the Satanic assassins can't reach us."

"Where do you have in mind?" Kenny asked cautiously.

"I don't know. Hey, what about Heaven?" Cartman suggested. "God's holy powers ought to keep anything and everything unholy out, including assassins! It would be the perfect and safest place for us to hide out."

"You're just trying to con your way past the Pearly Gates, aren't you?" Kenny deadpanned.

"Do I look like someone who'd do that?" Cartman said, aghast. Several pointed looks were directed at him. "Screw you guys," Cartman muttered under his breath.

"He might be right," Gary said, surprising everyone there with his words. "What if you all are still in danger?"

"You can't really be listening to him," Kenny deadpanned.

"Shush Kenny!" Cartman hissed.

"Kenny, how can we be sure they're safe?" Gary asked. "I never wanted any of them to get hurt because they were trying to help us. But it's happened now and I don't want anyone else to get hurt. Not if I can help it."

"You're serious about this," Kenny stated. "You know that Michael and the rest are going to have a fit."

"Then I'll have to pull rank, I suppose," Gary shrugged, though he looked uncomfortable with the idea.

"Jack Bauer rule?" Kenny asked.

"If that's what it'll take," Gary said, helping Kyra up to her feet.

"You don't have to do this," Kyra said softly to him.

"There's no other choice. Come on guys. We're taking you back with us," Gary said, looking over all of them. "It's going to be all right. We'll put an end to this thing once and for all, you'll see."

Kyra desperately wanted to believe him. She found that that was not as much a chore than she had thought.

Hopefully her faith in him would not be misplaced.

"Cartman! Wipe that smirk off your face!" Kenny reprimanded.

* * *

"The dirty deed is done!" Jay announced as he tromped back into Black Market, M-16 slung casually over a shoulder. Damn he felt like a badass. What he needed now was a beer and a cigarette…no, scratch the cigarette. A cigar. Now that was manly! Cigarettes were for pussies. And after sex.

"Did you leave the cross?" Wolf demanded. Wow, he wasn't doing small talk now. No questions about how it went. Just "did you leave the cross?"

"Yeah, yeah, I planted the stupid cross," Jay rolled his eyes. "Happy?"

"Very," Wolf nodded. "Oh. Before I forget. Did you get them all?"

"Heaven's stoolies? Yeah, I got them," Jay said proudly.

"All of them?" Wolf pressed.

"I blew the place up to make sure I got them," Jay proclaimed.

"No survivors?" Wolf was looking very giddy.

"No survivors," Jay confirmed before he recalled. "Well, except for Jane."

"Jane?" Wolf repeated, shifting his large, scaly body so that he fully faced Jay.

"Yeah, Jane," Jay said.

"Who the fuck is Jane?" Wolf demanded, small eyes narrowed.

"She's Jane," Jay shrugged as he stomped passed his fetal boss. "She's gonna put me in her diary."

"What?" Wolf was staring at him in disbelief.

"The Diary of Jane," Jay said as he entered the backroom, heading for a small refrigerator to retrieve the beer he had thought of earlier.

Wolf stared incredulously at Jay until his snouted face darkened. "…I will be the death of you."

Taking a swig from a Budweiser, because there was nothing more American than a beer that originated in Germany, Jay shrugged. "Sooner or later."

Extending an arm out, a clawed finger stabbing out accusingly, Wolf growled with anger at the black man's flippancy and devil-may-care attitude. "You…"

"Had enough?" Jay challenged as he raised an eyebrow mockingly and took another swig of his beer.

"I will not bow," Wolf stated as he raised his head up snootily, lowering his arm.

Jay shook his head, as if disappointed. Man he was still high from all the adrenaline in his system. "Hopeless."

Wolf slapped a hand against his face and slow slid it down. "I'm heading for a breakdown," he grumbled at his employee's insolence.

"Just when you think you're alright, my polyamorous friend," Jay chuckled as he took another swig of his beer. Ah, went down nicely…

"How do you know?" Wolf asked, peering at him suspiciously.

"Never mind, I don't care," Jay said as he turned his back on Wolf. He felt so pumped!

"So here we are," Wolf uttered as he took a step towards Jay.

"Hopeless," Jay said.

"Trying to hide the scars," Wolf taunted.

What was that about? Jay face twitched and in retaliation continued his verbal rebellion with, "I see you're starting to break."

"Fuck you," Wolf snapped at him, no amusement in his voice.

Taking another swig of his beer and noting at close to finishing it he was, Jay commented, "We dance with the devil tonight."

"Fuck me," Wolf moaned in frustration.

Jay just had to say it. "I wish I may." Pausing for a sec, he considered his words and had to add, "No homo."

"Just…go," Wolf ordered, turning his back on him.

Jay glanced to his left, then his right, and after that behind him. "You're blocking the way."

"I do not need this. I have a hostile takeover to complete and your belligerence is not needed right now," Wolf said.

"I just killed a bunch of people. I feel like I could take you on," Jay shrugged, finishing the beer with a couple gulps. "Aah, that was good." Looking around for a trashcan that he knew was there, he shrugged when he didn't find it and carelessly flung the empty beer bottle behind him where it smashed into pieces right next to their hostage.

Kyle exclaimed, "Watch it!" while glaring at the black man.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and get those souls ready to march," Wolf said. "While you're at it, another union formed. Bust it up for me."

"Right, right," Jay rolled his eyes. Not bothering to grab a gun seeing as how souls were immune to such weapons, he searched for the only thing they had around here that could. "Where's the nuclear accelerator proton pack?" he asked. "Oh wait, found it!"

It was a large, bulky device and the only way to carry it around was to wear it on his back. Due to its weight, he had to place the thing on a raised surface so that he could snake his arms through the straps before standing upright and balancing himself. Taking out a long, rifle-esque blaster that was hooked to the device, Jay headed towards the soul room to take care of business.

"Hey you. Can you turn me on?" he called out to Nathan before he entered.

"What?" Nathan blinked at him.

"My pack. Turn it on," he gesture with his head to the device.

"Oh. Okay, sure." Nathan stepped closer and clutched his fingers around a small switch that was set right above the words "union buster" that was painted on with white paint. "Is this it?"

"Yep," Jay confirmed.

A flip of the switch activated the pack, a soft hum radiating from the pack. "Thanks a lot pal." Without another word to Nathan, Jay continued on his way. Opening the metal door that sealed all the souls in, he stepped into the room, calling out, "Who ya gonna call? Jay Seamer!"

* * *

"You've got to be kidding," Satan stated, staring down at his son from his throne.

"It's better than waiting for Heaven to come at our Gates again," Damien said. "We call them out with a show of power."

"I know you want to move the battlefield to Earth…but do you have to be so unoriginal about it?" Satan asked.

"It's original!" Damien defended.

"Yeah, like raising a piece of Hell up to Earth isn't original," Satan rolled his eyes. "It's been done in movies and countless fanfictions before like a million times. Perfectly original. Yeah."

"Like you didn't try it yourself!" Damien shot back.

"Hey, that was because of a prophesy. You can't pin that one on me!" Satan defended himself.

"Then how else are we going to provoke them to come at us on a battlefield of our choosing?" Damien demanded.

"I don't know. Why don't you send them an insulting tweet or something," Satan shrugged.

"Demonius! Help me out," Damien turned to one of his father's advisors.

"All apologies but I must side with your father on this one," Demonius said, bowing towards the Antichrist. "It's just not in the budget that we can raise a piece of Hell up."

"We're a hundred trillion in debt! What do you mean it's not in the budget?" Damien argued.

"We're getting close to one hundred one trillion. That'll break our backs," Demonius answered.

"You said the same thing at a hundred," Damien scoffed. "We're still spending anyway. Father's cosmetics aren't cheap you know."

"Yeah, they aren't cheap you know!" Satan said. "It takes a lot to get me looking as good as I do and none of you seem to appreciate it!"

"We appreciate it very much, Lord Satan," Demonius said.

"I bet you don't even know if there's anything different," Satan sniffed, looking pointedly away from his demonic advisor.

"Er…you…manscaped your chest?" Demonius said questioningly.

Satan gasped. "You did notice!"

_Lucky guess_, Damien thought to himself, unable to believe that he missed such an obvious sight.

Nevertheless, this was going nowhere. How could Damien hope to spread fear among his servants, as well as his enemies, if his father kept meddling as he was? Why did the ruler of Hell have to be so difficult? There were times when he could be your best friend, going along with any wacky scheme you could come up with. Then there were times like these when he became an obstructionist and as well as a flat-out party pooper. There was no explanation for it other than male PMS and there was no way to predict when he might switch from brave crusader and prankster to spoilsport and melodramatic.

Fortunately, Damien knew how to get a rise out of him. It came at the price of living with him for centuries but it was times like this where it came in handy.

"I suppose I'll have to come up with something else," he grumbled aloud. "I mean, raising a piece of Hell up to the surface does sound outlandish and impractical. I just thought of it because of what that Archangel, Michael, said about you and I knew I couldn't let him get away with bad mouthing you."

"Michael's always bad mouthing me," Satan replied. "What'd he say this time?"

"That you look like a used tampon that's in bad need of being bleached," Damien said almost whimsically. "That, and insulted your fingernail polish."

"He did what?" Satan's voice boomed.

Demonius was giving him a queer look.

"He also said that your loincloths were out of fashion and your hooves were dull," Damien continued.

"My loincloths are perfectly functional _and_ stylish and I got my hooves polished the other day!" Satan thundered.

"Then…there was the thing about the beard…" Damien trailed off.

Satan's hand hovered around his beard. "He didn't," Satan said, eyes wide.

"He said it made you look butch," Damien said.

"That bastard!" Satan roared.

"You don't even want to hear what he said about your horns," Damien mentioned.

"Oh no. I don't care what he said about my horns. They are perfectly devilish!" Satan was in a full rage at this point.

"Michael thinks you're trying to compensate for something with them," Damien said.

"Compensate? What the hell is that supposed to…that son of a bitch." If Satan wasn't red-skinned naturally, well you get the idea.

"And how could I forget about what he said about your skin," Damien continued to pile on the insults but by this point, Satan had had enough.

"If that heavenly asshole thinks he can insult me like this, he has another thing coming!" Satan declared, rising from his throne.

"Lord Satan!" Demonius gasped, by now figuring out what Damien had been doing.

"I don't care if the budget can't handle it, we march to Earth!" Satan commanded. "I will show that bastard that my beard doesn't make me look butch, even if I have to choke him with it! Breach the surface! Battlefield: Earth!"

Sometimes it was just too easy, John Travolta movie notwithstanding.

* * *

Officer Marcus Cole sometimes wondered if the world was on its way to Hell in a hand basket.

The perimeter around the smoking remains of the diner was secure and the fire put out thanks to South Park's Bravest. Onlookers peered at the wreckage from behind yellow tape, murmuring about what had happened.

Marcus knew that something like this was beyond his expertise so he had called in for more law enforcement to help out. Detectives, police officers, arson investigators, forensics, you name it, he called for it. There was no doubt in his mind that this was going to be a big one and he didn't want to mess it up from the onset. He was going to do this one by the book and make sure it got solved.

Perhaps the biggest reason for such a decision was that after the fire had been put out, the bodies had been discovered. Many had been burned beyond recognition, as well as portions of said bodies completely gone because of the fire that had eaten away at them, and since he had no idea of how this had come to be, reinforcements would be needed.

At the moment, he was waiting for said reinforcements to show up. Some of the best forensics and arson investigators came from Denver and that took anywhere from an hour and a half to two hours of driving to do. In the meantime, he would keep everyone out so as to try and preserve this massive crime scene.

If only Officer Barbrady were here. He would know how to handle this. When it came to telling others that there was nothing to see here, Officer Barbrady had it down to an art. Marcus on the other hand wasn't that believable.

Hmm, what was that? For a second, it felt like the earth had trembled. As if something was shifting the very foundations of the mountains. But that was silly. This wasn't a place that had earthquakes in it. That was California!

…then again, this particular place in Colorado tended to have strange occurrences in it. An earthquake in comparison was almost normal.

There was a boom off to the distance. It almost sounded like a bomb had gone off. Marcus frowned as he looked in the direction of the boom, wondering and maybe hoping that it was just a local discharging a shotgun in the air.

He jerked out of his thoughts as he heard the radio in his car go off. Now either this was coincidence…or that boom wasn't as innocent as he hoped it was. Answering the call, he was informed that dispatch had received very frantic and panicky calls from some locals. Something else was happening in his town and he was supposed to go check it out.

Instructing a fellow officer to keep the crime scene secured, Marcus got into his squad car and headed off in the direction of the boom from earlier. All the while, his mind thought of multiple explanations for what could be happening. A gas main went off? Military accidentally bombed something nearby in a training exercise? Rob Reiner slipped and landed on his ass? What could it be?

Moments later, he found out that of all the theories he had, none came close to the truth.

Maybe that thought of the foundation of the mountains shifting hadn't been far off.

Just outside of town, a gaping maw had opened up like some kind of sinkhole. Well that was a plausible and normal theory, actually. A sinkhole. Those things were happening more and more frequently nowadays. But there was more to this one than others. Most sinkholes didn't have jagged, volcanic spikes of doom rising out of them.

High above, the sky had darkened, smoke-like clouds obscuring the sun and blue sky. Getting out of his squad car and unholstering his gun, Marcus slowly approached this strange phenomenon.

The hole continued to widen, allowing more of the strange rock formations and if he looked around, he saw that there were other ones popping up some distance away. There were more of these things and—wait, was that some movement?

Narrowing his eyes, Marcus peered at a very thin, pale, and almost crystalized figure that was gracefully moving about the volcanic formations as if not in the least bit impressed by them. In his gut, the police officer had a feeling that whoever it was, it wasn't human.

Then the feminine features grew more prominent as the figure got closer, heedless of Marcus' presence.

Well, there was only one thing to do at this point. Marcuse swallowed loudly and squared his shoulders.

"Halt!" he called out, catching the attention of this otherworldly being. "As a duly elected representative of the city of South Park, Park County and the state of Colorado, I order you to cease any and all supernatural activity and return forthwith to your place of origin or to the nearest convenient parallel dimension."

Yeah, that ought to do it.

In a deep, yet throat voice, the otherworldly figure asked, "Are you a god?"

Marcus paused and thought about it. That was an…odd question. Well, honesty was the best policy and all.

"No," he answered.

"Then…diiiieee," the otherworldly entity raised its arms of and fired strands of what looked like electrical energy that passed by him but struck his car, blowing the hell out of it in a fiery blaze.

Turning back to look at the remains of his car then back to the otherworldly entity, Marcus thought to himself that the next time something like this creature asked him if he was a god, he should probably answer yes instead.

In the meantime, he reholstered his gun and fled like a coward. Nothing else needed to be said.

* * *

"The fuck?" Melanie asked as she peered out of her window.

"What is it?" Conner asked, looking up from his illustrations of Melanie's future wedding dress.

"I want to say it's a gay pride parade…no offense, but…I don't know," Melanie bit her lip.

Curious, Conner set aside his things and joined Melanie at the window. For some inexplicable reason, the sky had darkened with black clouds and in the distance you could see hellish red light. What was going on?

"Look at them, they're hideous," Melanie said, shivering. Following her gaze, Conner at last spotted what had really captured Melanie's attention. Armored monsters were trolling down the street and were those swords and shields? What was this, some kind of _Lord of the Rings_ reenactment?

The pair watched as some of the beasts broke into a house and began ransacking the place. After a good few minutes, Melanie growled and clinched her fists.

"Well there goes the housing values," she snarled. "If they think they're going to get away with this, oh fuck are they in for a surprise."

"Melanie?" Conner looked at his neighbor and client as if he had never seen her before.

"Stay here, I'm going to show these fucktards that I'm not about to have the value of my home plummet," Melanie ordered. "I've spent too long keeping black people out of this neighborhood for these assholes to fuck it up! Where's my baseball bat? I'm gonna fuck _them_ up!"

"Melanie!" Conner exclaimed.

* * *

There was a lot of activity going on. Not that Charlie was getting involved with it. For the moment, she was keeping out of it until it calmed down enough that she could walk out into the hallway without fear of being trampled.

It was a shame that Christophe had left earlier. She was stuck in her room while waiting for it to calm down outside. Sure, she had Agent Smith with her but outside of him criticizing how weak and obsolete humans were, he wasn't the best with conversations.

The only thing she had to distract her was Winslow (now she was calling it by name!), fiddling with the blade to alleviate her boredom. She hadn't let the damn thing out of her sight, or person, since she had grabbed it. Why was it that an asshole like its previous owner was able to put her in such a state?

"It's pathetic how your emotions reduce you to such inaction," Agent Smith condemned from his corner.

"You can shut the fuck up," Charlie retorted, not taking her eyes off Winslow. What was it about this knife that had captured Bain's attention? He took care of it better than people!

She had to get a grip. She was letting the memory of Bain bring her down. She had a feeling that he would rip into her about it, taunt her even. That was just like him, the mind games and everything.

But, like Damien had told her, she had responsibilities that she had to do. She was the one who had agreed to Satan's terms and got herself mixed up into all this. Like many a time, she wondered why she had agreed to babysit Damien in the first place. Even after she had completed a year, she still had to look after the unholy asshole. Not to mention there was the rest of her family. So much pressure, so much responsibilities, she hadn't been able to do the things she wanted.

Maybe after this was all over, she would do what she had always thought she would do. Join the military or something. Do something to pay homage to the memory of her dead father who…no, not the time to think about it. After all this time, the pain of her father, Justin White's death was still fresh.

The door to her quarters opened and in slipped that Satanist Dilan. Huh, hadn't seen him in a while.

"Whew, shit is going on," Dilan commented, wiping at his forehead. "Oh, didn't see you there."

"What's going on?" Charlie asked. Finally, some stimulation.

"Shit is," Dilan shrugged. Giving him a look, Charlie coaxed more information out of him. "Satan and Damien are moving their armies up onto Earth. They've literally moved a piece of Hell up and everything. It's fucking awesome."

"What the…no, I'm not going to say that. It's redundant. What are those two thinking?" Charlie wondered. "I take my eyes off them for a minute and they're bringing Earth into this shit."

"Hey, if you think about it, it's pretty cool," Dilan said. Pausing for a moment, he said, "Dang, gonna have to go check in on my housemate. It'll suck balls if something happened to him. Paying the mortgage on a stripper's salary ain't easy."

"You're just like them. No sense of foresight," Charlie sighed. "Maybe it's not too late and I can do some damage control."

"What, you wanna screw with the awesomeness of this?" Dilan stared at her, flabbergasted.

"No but if they aren't careful, they'll screw themselves over and that's what I'm worried about," Charlie replied.

"It's good to know that you're fully invested in this cause," Damien spoke from the doorway. "Warms my heart."

"You couldn't be bothered to tell me that you were doing this now?" Charlie snapped at her former and in some ways current charge.

"Things moved faster than I thought they would," Damien sniffed. "Be glad that I'm even here to get you right now instead of on the surface instructing the troops. Father wants to see you because he has another outfit for you."

"It better not be like that last one," Charlie growled.

"It is," Damien confirmed.

"Fuck," Charlie grumbled, losing some of her steam.

"Come along. There's so much to do and so little time," Damien said, gesturing for her to leave the room first.

Knowing that doing anything else would delay the inevitable, Charlie grasped Winslow's handle tightly and made her way over to Damien. Damien, though, eyed the blade contemptuously.

"You're going to have to leave that behind," Damien ordered.

"What? Why?" Charlie demanded, not about to relinquish the weapon.

"You're not allowed to have it on your person when you go back up to Earth," Damien stated. "And before you say anything, that was my father. He finds it creepy."

Preempted before she could mount a defense. Fuck. If there was anyone that Charlie couldn't oppose, it was Satan and that was because he fucking owned her. With a smirk on his face, Damien left, expecting her to follow after him while disregarding any chivalry he had been displaying earlier.

"Wow, sucks to be you," Dilan said.

Tell her about it. Eyeing Winslow, Charlie scrambled over any loophole that she could use. She was not leaving it behind, no way no how. Yet she couldn't take it…but someone else could.

She couldn't bring Winslow with her…but Agent Smith could! That guy was just standing around anyway. At least this way they could get some more use out of him.

"Hey Smith! Catch!" she called out to the computer program and tossed Winslow at him. Agent Smith easily caught Winslow by the handle, something Charlie fully expected, but then for a second Agent Smith fuzzed up. That was the best way she could describe it. There was a sharp _sttzz_ and Agent Smith was a fuzzy blur for a second before going back to normal.

"What was that?" she asked, somewhat struggling not to say "what the hell was that?" They were already in Hell so it would be redundant like she explained earlier. Agent Smith didn't answer and she couldn't tell what was going through his head thanks to the sunglasses he wore. "Hey Smith! What was that, a computer virus?" Again, nothing. Now she was getting a little worried. Had she broken their Anti-Keanu Reeves? "Hey. Are you okay?"

Agent Smith deliberately raised a hand up and took off his glasses and what Charlotte saw next practically took her breath away. Instead of seeing Hugo Weaving's natural eye color glaring at her, she instead saw a pair of hardened heterochromatic ones, the right eye brown and the left eye green.

"_No Charlotte. I'm not fucking okay."_

* * *

Author's Note: Bet none of you saw that one coming. Bain still has one last role to play but other than that, he is dead. Now, you're probably wondering about that conversation between Jay and Wolf. Looks awkward, doesn't it? Well, that's what **ShadowMajin** helped me out with. Those are the titles and song lyrics of various Breaking Benjamin songs. Can you identify them all? Everything from "The Diary of Jane" to "Just…go" are those song titles and lyrics. On one last note, Jay's union buster is indeed a Ghostbuster proton pack. And Marcus' warning to that Gozer ripoff is a quote from the first movie. What can I say, I've had Ghostbusters on my mind recently.


	21. Insert Name of Apocalypse

Author's Note: Another insanely long chapter but I want to get to the good stuff next chapter. So what could reasonably be two chapters, is now one. Hopefully this makes up for the time. Anyway, poll's still going on so get your votes in. Who is the most popular OC in this story? You can vote up to five times so you don't have to stick with one. Right now, I foresee only three more chapters. So yeah, this is coming to an end quickly. Enjoy.

**CrownedSoldier**: Which scene is so beautiful that it brought tears to your eyes, if you don't mind me asking? I chose that song in particular because someone once told me it was about a guy burning metaphorical bridges for a girl and I thought that Jay was doing the same thing, burning bridges that is. Besides, Ghostbusters are awesome.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, violence, death

Insert Name of Apocalypse

"Christ," Michael moaned, rubbing his forehead. This was completely out of the blue. No one here had even thought that this could happen.

The microwave was broken.

Oh, and their hired help to get the Book of Nemesis was half dead.

But what would you consider more important? With the microwave, they had read to eat meals in just a few minutes! Now they had to take half an hour to make something tasty. It was inhumane!

However, the microwave would have to wait. Right now, he had to deal with the other less important, but not totally unimportant, development with their search and seizure team. That was something that, like the microwave breaking, had not been anticipated. Most of the mortals that had accepted the task had been murdered, no assassinated, and their souls most likely in Hell where they would undergo horrible interrogations.

All they had left were four and their Second Coming had deemed it necessary to bring them back to Heaven for their safety, screw the fact that unnecessary mortals were not supposed to be up here for extended periods of time. The Second Coming was becoming too independent for Michael to control anymore; Gary was _second guessing_ him! How was Michael supposed to retain his position of power when he was being undermined by this guy, albeit he was outranked by him.

It wasn't fair! This was his time to truly shine! Who around knew how to deal with Satan and his unholy minions better than him? No one, that's who! But now the guy who's supposed to be their Second Coming was _using_ his administrative powers that were more for show than anything and was _doing things_!

"So where can we keep them until this blows over?" Gary asked, bright and cheerful as always while he held that golf club that he had brought back with him the last time.

"Gary, you have to understand, outside of you and Kenny, mortals are not supposed to be here in Heaven for prolonged amounts of time," Michael said. "It goes against the order that we have here, as well as very unfair to the souls who spent their whole lives being good and nice to get here."

"But their lives are in danger! And we're in part responsible for it!" Gary protested. "We have to accept what we've done and live with the consequences."

But he didn't want to accept the consequences of his choices! That was for mortals to do whether they liked it or not.

"Michael, please defer to the Second Coming and let him have what he wants," Gabriel advised. "Remember, he outranks you."

Yes, yes, thank you for reminding him of what he already knew! He didn't need it rubbed in his face, thank you very much! Ugh…he didn't really have a choice in this, did he?

"Do as you will, though I strenuously object to this," Michael said. "Whatever they do, you're responsible for them. They break the rules, you have to suffer the consequences." Ha! He's using your own words against you!

"Thanks!" Gary said, agreeing to his terms.

"So how are the army preparations going?" Kenny asked from beside Gary. "We won't be unprepared for the next battle, will we?"

"They're going along as scheduled," Michael said, grateful to go to a topic he knew all about. "In a couple mortal days, yes, your days not ours, we should be ready to mount another attack on the Gates of Hell. To think I would see the day where our own creation is used against us."

"Well, the Gates of Hell were supposed to keep things in as well as out," Gabriel said helpfully.

"Yes, yes, I know that," Michael grumbled. "Anyway, we're digging out some much more effective weapons of mass destruction from the armory. I will admit we haven't used some of them in millennia but after we blow the dust off them and polish them up, they should be as good as new."

"They'll work, right?" Kenny asked. "I don't want to have to use one of those things only to find out that they're broken due to disuse."

"We're making sure they work appropriately," Michael said. "All goes well, we'll really be able to throw the full might of Heaven."

"Yeah!" Uriel cheered, pumping a fist in the air.

"Thank you for that, Uriel," Michael said somewhat sarcastically.

"Michael! Everyone!" an angel whose name Michael couldn't quite remember barged in. His name began with an O, he thought.

"What is it…Origami?" Michael asked.

"Ongkanon!" Ongkanon corrected, peeved. Then back to business, "This just came in. Hell has made a move. They're on the surface of Earth and they're setting up camp!"

"They're what!" Michael exclaimed.

"When did this happen?" Kenny demanded.

"An hour or so ago," Ongkanon said. "I've been…watching their movements to see what they were doing before I came to tell you—"

"You should have told us the moment they entered Earth," Kenny reprimanded. "We could have stopped them!"

"How are we going to stop Hell when a piece of Hell is part of the landscape now?" Ongkanon wondered.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding! That old, unoriginal ploy?" Michael scoffed. "Still, it's alarming that they're on Earth. They're advancing before we're ready."

"Or maybe Damien has selected the next battlefield," Kenny said grimly.

"Battlefield Earth?" Gabriel said.

"Horrible movie but not what I mean," Kenny said. "Damien wants the next battle to be on Earth, away from the Gates of Hell and he's preempting us. We have to meet him on Earth before he accomplishes whatever he's doing."

"This could be it," Michael gasped. "The Apocalypse started early! The Antichrist has succeeded! First he routes us on his home turf, then he assassinates our trump card, and now he's going through with his plans. Does his ambition know no limit?"

"I have not been able to find out," Ongkanon said, referring to Damien's ambition.

"Well get on that then," Michael ordered. "And keep track of troop movement. Gabriel, Uriel, get the troops ready to march on Earth. It's time for some divine intervention."

* * *

"Is it me or does that tower look like a dick?"

"Leave the Tower of Phallic Pride alone," Stan said wearily, lounging against a railing with his arms crossed.

Cartman, though, could not take his eyes off it. "How many things are sexual innuendos here?" the plumber wondered.

"My guess is everything," Brittany sighed. Looking towards the doors that Kenny and Gary and entered a while ago, she asked, "What do you think's going on in there?"

"A lot of ass kissing and a lot of pleading I bet," Stan answered. Glancing at Cartman, he added, "I'm surprised we managed to get him past the Pearly Gates. He wasn't allowed in last time."

"Aha! There's something that's not a sexual innuendo!" Cartman crowed, pointing a finger Stan.

"What about precum? It's pearly when it comes out," Stan said.

Cartman opened his mouth to retort then closed it. "Goddamn it."

"You just took the Lord's name in vain. Guess like you're going to Hell," Brittany said.

"I don't care what anybody says, I'm going to Heaven!" Cartman declared. "I mean here! I'm coming here!"

"Already?" Stan teased.

"Fuck you Stan!" Cartman snapped at him.

"No thank you," Stan quipped.

"Aw! Aww! You son of a bitch!" Cartman yelled.

"You know what the best part of this is?" Stan said to Brittany. "He can't say 'screw you guys, I'm going' wherever. He can't go home because there's a homicidal maniac that might be trying to hunt us down and he can't go anywhere else because he might get kicked out of Heaven."

"He's turning red," Brittany said.

"Nothing alarming yet," Stan said before looking over to Kyra. "You want to say something too?"

"I just want all this to be over with," Kyra said. "I don't care if Cartman's a closet homosexual for you Stan. All I want is to get back to my life."

"Ey! I'm not gay for this dickwad!" Cartman exclaimed.

"Kyle then. Whatever," Kyra corrected herself.

Cartman made choking sounds as if the very idea repulsed him so much that he was going to be sick.

"Nice," Stan said, holding out a hand for a hi-five. Amazingly enough, though without looking at him, Kyra returned it.

Brittany, though, just sighed and continued to watch the doors. "What's taking them so long?"

"Who knows?" Stan shrugged. "They'll come out when they come out unlike Cartman here who just came out."

"Screw you Stan. Seriously. Screw you," Cartman muttered. After a moment of looking around, he unexpectedly exclaimed, "Gawd, this place is boring!"

"Is it? Hadn't really noticed," Stan said.

"How can you stand it?" Cartman ranted. "It's all quiet and peaceful and…and…ey! Is that a Mormon? Jesus Christ, there's a swarm of them!"

"Them? Yeah, they're all over this place. You get used to them. Maybe," Stan shrugged uncaringly. "Just be careful You might get invited over for dinner. Maybe have to do macaroni pictures or donate blood. Volunteer work maybe. You know, stuff you're allergic to."

"Oh ha, ha, Stan," Cartman sneered. "The only way this could get worse is if there were…there…were…Jews. Oh my God, there are Jews in Heaven. Jesus killing Jews!"

"That one angel said that all Jews go to Heaven," Stan said.

"How did I forget! Oh Jesus Christ, this can't be Heaven! It's Hell! I'm bored to death in Hell!" Cartman wailed.

Before Cartman could breakdown any further, the doors that the foursome were waiting before opened and traffic streamed out of it. Foremost was Gary and Kenny and Stan brightened up at the sight. Finally, now they'd find out what was going on.

"Remember, they're your responsibility," the archangel Michael said for some reason that Stan didn't understand but he dismissed it anyway. Something he didn't dismiss, though, was how the two girls, excuse him, women also brightened up when these two guys showed up.

"Come on guys, you're coming with me," Gary told them. Shrugging, Stan followed after their present day messiah as the blond led the way to wherever they were going now. "Michael and the others agreed you could stay but you have to stay out of trouble or it's on me. I have to warn you, though, that you're not going to be seeing a lot of me for the moment because Hell just showed up on Earth and we're going to meet them there."

"Wait, what?" Stan exclaimed.

"It's like he said," Kenny explained. "A piece of Hell is on Earth and Damien's using it as a base of operations. He's forcing us to fight him on Earth instead of the Gates of Hell like last time. We can't let him go any further."

"So if you're going down to Earth, are we going to be stuck up here?" Brittany asked, catching on quickly.

"Sorry but that's what it sounds like," Gary said.

"Oh no, you can't do that!" Cartman protested. "It's so fucking boring here!"

"Cartman!" Kenny reprimanded.

"No, seriously! I stay up here any longer, I swear I'll hang myself!" Cartman exclaimed.

There were a lot of gasps and various angels were looking at the obese man in horror. "Is something troubling you son?" a random, elderly looking angel asked. "Suicide is never the right choice. It's a one way ticket to Hell and you still have the problems you had when you were alive."

"It's an expression, dumbass," Cartman huffed.

"Ignore him, he just wants attention," Kenny said loudly, hoping to assuage the distress of the angels. "Cartman, are you fucking stupid," he hissed next. "These guys take life too seriously. Suicide is practically unheard of to the point that they commit you for hinting about it! It's like a swear word."

"Well excuse me if these sensitive assholes can't handle anything taboo," Cartman spat out.

"Can you just keep out of trouble?" Gary asked, voice slightly strained. "I'm really going out on a limb here, not that I wouldn't do it anyway."

"We'll try to keep him under control but I'm not promising anything," Stan said.

"Ey! What am I? Some kind of pet that hasn't been housebroken?" Cartman demanded, glaring at Stan. When Stan didn't reply, "Don't ignore me asshole!"

"Do your best will you?" Gary said and was it Stan or did this guy look tired? Maybe the stress of all this was getting to him.

"No promises but we'll try," Stan nodded.

"What did I say about ignoring me?" Cartman bellowed at them.

The unexpected then happened. Kyra spun around, grabbed Cartman by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward so that their faces were mere inches away from one another. "Everybody is tired, stressed, traumatized, and all around we want to go back to how things used to be. You yelling and complaining is not helping anything. If you can't say anything that would be helpful then don't say anything at all. The next time you say anything that doesn't help or move things along, I will rip out your intestines through your ass, hanging you with them from that fucking tower of penis then rip your heart out through your mouth and force you to eat it. _Are we clear?_"

Cartman nodded, face as white as a sheet. Kyra shoved him away and returned to her place by Gary's side, looking like she had gotten something off her chest.

And you wonder why Stan was trying to get her back.

* * *

The situation had been explained to Satan that Agent Smith was currently being possessed by the recently found soul of Bain Cynis and so far he had been taking the news well. For about five minutes. Charlie hated being in this position but every time she looked at Agent Smith—um, Bain, she found him toying around with Winslow, not in the least bit bothered by what was going on.

He could at least help her out.

"This is just perfect!" Satan exclaimed dramatically. "The only thing we have to take care of Heaven's Keanu Reeves is now possessed by a sexist Commandment Breaker who doesn't know the first thing about using his Anti-Keanu Reeves powers. We might as well give up now because there is no way we're gonna beat Heaven now!"

"You always did 'ave a talent for making zings more difficult zan zey ought to be," Christophe told Bain.

"_You're not the first to tell me that,"_ Bain replied disinterestedly.

"How did this even happen?" Satan bemoaned. "An hour ago, we couldn't find your damned soul and now here you are possessing Agent Smith. Stop possessing Agent Smith!"

"Yeah, stop possessing Agent Smith," Zazul agreed.

Bain's eyes slid over the demon, looking at the red-skinned fiend with disinterest before sliding back over to Satan. _"Your guess is as good as mine as to how this came about. I was busy being an inanimate object when the next thing I know, I can move again."_

"So creepy," Satan shuddered at Bain's voice.

Charlie, meanwhile, had been listening to Bain's every word and something about what he said caught her attention. What did he mean by being an inanimate object? The hellish light reflecting off Winslow drew her attention to the blade and she began to get a sinking feeling.

"Are you saying that your soul was in Winslow?" she asked, voice almost cracking.

"Who the hell is Winslow?" Satan wondered.

The Bain-possessed Agent Smith shrugged his shoulders in such a Bain-esque way that it hurt.

Charlie shook her head. "It figures," she grumbled. "You love that fucking knife more than anything else."

"That might explain this missing soul business," Satan butted in. "Sometimes, if a mortal in life is too attached to something, their soul sticks close to it even if the thing is portable."

"I pulled it out of his heart," Charlie told the Dark Prince.

Nearby, Dilan muttered, "Sick." That might have been a compliment.

"That ought to do it," Satan said. "Right in the soul container. Works better if you get a demon's blood involved."

Amazingly, Winslow stilled in Agent Smith's hand. _"I stabbed a Satanic fetus in the head with this."_

Charlie blinked dumbly at that. With the reports of what she knew about Wolf, she was surprised that Bain managed to accomplish that.

"You should have tried a wire coat hanger," Satan said.

"_I'll remember that for next time,"_ Bain said dryly.

"Sure, you do that, now get out of Agent Smith," Satan ordered.

"_If I knew how I got in, I might be able to do that,"_ Bain answered.

"You don't even know…? Somebody get this guy remedial lessons on possession," Satan commanded.

Charlie was jolted out of whatever stupor she had fallen into. Now, she wasn't as opposed to Bain's new ability to possess others as you might think and she didn't want him leaving anytime soon. Who knew when would be the next time she'd speak with him? She needed to act fast and act fast now.

"Maybe this isn't such a bad thing," she said.

"What do you mean it's not a bad thing? Your creepy boy toy is possessing our Anti-Keanu Reeves," Satan asked. "How is this not a bad thing?"

"He has…um…oh, I know! He has experience with fighting Heaven's Keanu Reeves!" she all but exclaimed.

"Experience? You don't say," Satan drawled out. "This makes it better how?"

"Bain, how many times have you fought with Mysterion?" Charlie turned to her deceased lover.

"_I lost count,"_ Bain shrugged. _"Let's see…he saved the rainbow bitch from me a few times. There was that successful attempt I made on Rod's life. There were the times I went after _him_ so that he wouldn't interfere with my business. Prom, if you remember that one."_

She knew about a couple of those but she had always been under the impression that it was Christophe who always came to Rhiannon's rescue. Now that she thought about it, there were those times when those two weren't together and her rainbow friend was vulnerable. She was a bit surprised that Bain actually made attempts on Mysterion's life. Wasn't he Kenny, though?

"How many times did you beat him?" Satan inquired. Not a bad question there.

"_Well, he attempted to stop me from killing Rod Woods. He failed,"_ Bain stated, Agent Smith's lips curling upwards darkly. _"He tried to stop me from ruining our Senior Prom. He failed."_

"Huh." Satan, it seemed, couldn't come up with anything else to say to that.

"Well, since he has such a track record, maybe we can use it," Charlie hinted at the ruler of Hell.

"Use it how?" Satan asked, eyeing her.

"Maybe he can think of a way that can get Kenny, Mysterion, or whatever else he calls himself, removed from the battle. If he's not able to direct the troops, Heaven will be at a severe disadvantage," Charlie explained, coming up with some of her answer off the top of her head.

"That might work better than having Heaven's Keanu Reeves trapped in a vegetative state," Demonius mused. "But how long could he occupy Mysterion? He is, after all, a crime-fighting vigilante who stands for truth and justice. It's practically predetermined that he'll win."

"_Then we'll have to antagonize predetermination, won't we?"_ Bain chuckled. Charlie had to repress a shudder because it had been so long since he had done that. Internet chatting just wasn't the same and didn't carry over the same nuances that only could be heard in person.

"Oh I see what's happening. It's that pride before the fall shit," Satan grumbled. "Don't get full of yourself. Charlie, he's your responsibility and if he fucks this up, it's on you as well."

Huh. That was new. It was rare that Satan decided something in which she had the potential to suffer consequences from. Well, all that meant was that she had an investment in whether Bain could follow through on his promises. He'd better for both their sakes.

"Take our possessed Anti-Keanu Reeves topside," Satan ordered, falling into the role of the dark overlord that he was. "It's only a matter of time until Heaven retaliates and we need to be ready. Demonius, I need you to help me get ready. I will be participating in this battle as well."

"Lord Satan! Are you sure about this?" Demonius gasped.

Yeah, was he sure about this? Charlie was once again caught off guard by the Dark Prince.

"Oh course I'm sure!" Satan stomped a hoof onto the floor. "Gawd, why do you always have to keep questioning me? I'm going because I don't want anyone else to suspect that there's something wrong with our Anti-Keanu Reeves. Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not sire," Demonius said, bowing slightly to his lord and master. "If that is your will, it shall be done."

* * *

Black, white, and gray crooked lines hissed for a second before a picture snapped into focus. A man with graying black hair and a thick mustache seemed to stare straight at you, his eyes quivering with fear and stress. In a bottom right corner, a set of digits held permanent residency, separated only by a colon. In the top right corner were the letters REC.

South Park native and veteran Randy Marsh was recording the proceedings.

"It's been several hours since the monsters first showed up," Randy spoke. "Right now, I'm on top of the community center, Sharon's right beside me. Sharon, say hello into the camera."

"Randy, will put that camera down for a minute?" an overwhelmed woman with short, whitening hair ordered.

"Sharon, you're going to thankful when we have this cool video to watch after this is all over," Randy told his long-suffering wife. "Now over here, we have the Stotches, Chris and Linda, and next to them we have Nelson from work and the Donovons. Say hello into the camera guys." The named group of people peered at the camera, some looking away while others just continued to stare without a word.

The camera jostles as it moves so that it looks over the streets of South Park where various demons occupy the sidewalks and roads. "Over here, we have these monsters that came out of the ground. There's a lot more now than there were an hour ago. What's that one doing?" The camera zooms in on one of the monsters tossing a brick up into the air and catching it, repeating the action again and again. Then without warning, it throws the brick into a window, shattering the glass and then leading the charge in. "Aw, that was the electronics store. I hope they don't trash the blu-ray players. I've been meaning to get a new one."

There was a pounding sound and the camera blurred for a second until it stopped at a door. "What was that?" Randy exclaimed. "What. Was. That?" It was silent for a moment, the camera's vision trembling from the unsteady hand holding it. "I don't hear anything so it could have been—there it is again!" There was the pounding sound again but this time one could tell that it was coming from the other side of the door. The camera lowers so that now it sees moving feet, soon lifting up again only now the door is up close.

There's more pounding and Randy says in a high falsetto, "_Who is it_?"

A muffled voice said, "I knew it! There's someone out there!"

"Crap! Um…_no, there's no one out here. You'll have to go somewhere else_."

"Wait, I recognize that voice! Randy! Is that you? It's me, Jimbo!"

"How do I know that?" Randy demanded. "You could be one of those monsters that's out there trying to pretend to be Jimbo!" The camera wavers as it was moved away from the door.

"Randy!" Sharon reprimanded, stepping into the camera's sight and opening the door.

"Sharon! Don't! You don't know—oh it's Jimbo. Hey Jimbo. Wave to the camera!"

"Randy! It's great to see you're okay!" Randy's brother exclaimed approaching the camera man while other South Park residents squeeze out from around him. The camera turns away for a moment, not recording the masculine bro hug before returning back to Jimbo. "Those things are all over the place! What are we going to do?"

"I don't know Jimbo," Randy answered, breathing deep and loudly. "There's just so many of them. They're everywhere! I…I am so startled."

"I know you are Randy. What kind of supplies do you have up here?" Jimbo asked, the camera following after the wide-girth hunter.

"We don't have much. Some bottled waters and some pop tarts. Strawberry flavored. I don't know how much longer we can last at this rate. How many people followed you here?" Randy informed.

"Just these guys," Jimbo said. Pausing, he stared straight into the camera. "Eh…Randy, are you going to put that down?"

"Put what down?" Randy asked.

"That camera," Jimbo said. "What if those things get up here and you're still holding that? You'd have to put it down so you can defend yourself."

"Nuh uh. You see, I already thought of that." The camera was lowered and soon all that it could see was the roof. It shuddered and twitched for a bit as there was a ripping sound of something being stretched, followed by some jostling and the appearance of a shotgun barrel was fixed into the picture. The camera was raised and directed straight at Jimbo. "You see? Think of all the shots I can take with it now! One of those godforsaken creatures gets up here and bam! I not only record the bastard dying but also the gunshot! Isn't it great?"

"Put that thing down!" Jimbo exclaimed holding his hands up in surrender.

"Pshaw, you can't appreciate genius. Hey guys, what do you think about my camera?" The view of the camera blurred until it stopped on a couple who cried out in panic.

"Don't aim that thing at us!" the pussy guy cried out.

"Hey, come on. You have to admit that this is freaking cool looking," Randy whined.

"If we say it's cool, will you not point it at us?" the woman asked.

"You hear that Jimbo? They think it's cool!" Randy bragged, the view of the camera turning to some of the other people who had shown up with Jimbo. "What about you guys?"

"I…I think it's awesome looking. Please don't shoot me!" one of them answered, on the verge of shitting his pants.

"I knew it. Hey Sharon. Take a look at this." The camera found itself pointing at Randy's beleaguered wife.

"Randy!" Sharon exclaimed. "Put that thing down before you hurt somebody!"

"You can't appreciate the genius of this Sharon. Trust me, you're going to appreciate this when we can watch all the good shots I get with it later." The camera jerks over to Jimbo who jumped back. "What were you doing Jimbo?"

"I, uh, nothing? Just…what's going on over there?" his brother (in-law?) said, gesturing to another part of the roof.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Randy said. "We have to keep a look out for those things. They might be—what the hell?" The camera jerked away from Jimbo and to two of the guys who followed Jimbo. "What were you guys doing? You almost startled me! Were you trying to take my camera gun?"

"Look, we don't it's safe for you to be pointing that thing at everybody. You might hurt someone," one of them said.

"Please, I know what I'm doing. It's not like I'm going to accidentally pull the trigger—shit!" The shotgun fired, practically annihilating the guy who spoke, blood splattering onto the camera lens, blocking all sight with red before abruptly going into a fuzz.

The fuzz cut away to Randy Marsh's swollen face, complete with black eye and missing teeth. Breathing deeply, Randy said, "My gunshot alerted those monsters below that we are up here but they haven't come after us yet. Everyone beat me up and took my gun away but at least I still have the camera. I am so startled. Seriously. What are we gonna do?"

"Randy!"

"Aw crud!"

The camera's view breaks off abruptly into another fuzz.

* * *

While Bain was playing uninterested automaton, Charlie meanwhile had something that needed to be dealt with.

"Glad you could make it," Satan greeted her, Demonius shuffling about to get the Dark Prince dressed accordingly for battle. So far she could only see gauntlets of a metallic quality fitted onto his large hands and it made her wonder what the rest of his battle suit would look like. And speaking of battle suits.

"I'm not going to wear that damn thing you put me in last time," Charlie stated, crossing her arms.

"Oh don't worry about that," Satan said, waving a hand dismissively. "It got fucked up last time." Yeah, Charlie knew that quite intimately thank you very much. She was the one responsible for the irreparable damage to it and most of that damage occurred _after_ the battle. "I got a better one ready for you and I must say, those tailors know what they are doing. Had them up for days making it. I hope you like it."

That sounded encouraging but Charlie wasn't holding her breath yet. Satan's tastes were…not going to get into that. If that last degrading outfit was what he considered to be her "official uniform" (direct quote there), then what would he consider to be appropriate for combat? Since that "official uniform" was also meant for battle, what this new one would be like was anyone's guess.

"Let's see it," she shrugged, bracing herself for whatever may come.

"Hey Demonius, show it to her," Satan ordered his advisor.

"Very well, my Lord," Demonius said, stretching an arm out to snag a rope dangling from above and pulling down on it. A curtain that Charlie hadn't paid any mind to opened to reveal…

You know, that first outfit was starting to look _real_ good about now. This one was…much more revealing if that was even possible!

"Nuh uh," Charlie said.

"Huh?" Satan looked at him. "What do you mean 'nuh uh'?"

"I'm not wearing that," Charlie stated. "I'm even more exposed than before! I thought you said those tailors worked for days."

"They did," Satan nodded. "You know how hard is to make a suit like that and with an evil flair to it? Not easy."

"My breasts are more exposed than before!" Charlie exclaimed, her crossed arms raising slightly so that it appeared she was shielding said breasts.

"Yeah, to take advantage of your feminine wiles," Satan said. "I am so jealous that you have those curves. What's your secret?"

"Good genetics," Charlie replied briskly. "But I'm not wearing that thing. Isn't there anything else you have? Something that doesn't expose my stomach? That's like putting a bull's-eye on my torso that says 'hit internal organs here.' The boots aren't even thigh-highs either! I don't even see the gloves!"

"I was going for a more punk look this time around," Satan said proudly. "The gloves are those things right there. See? Fingerless and everything."

"Actually, those gloves look cool but I'm not wearing the rest of it. Isn't there anything else? Please?" Right now, Charlie was attempting a bastardized form of the puppy dog eyes. Demonius was shielding his eyes while Satan looked as if he was seeing unspeakable horror.

"Well, if you stop giving me that look, I could show you this other one…but's it not in your size and isn't half as awesome as this one," Satan compromised. "Demonius. Show her the other one."

Demonius directed her attention to another curtain and pull-down rope in which behind this one was a black, skintight, one piece suit that covered the entire body and came complete with a belt and spiked high heels for that demonic look. Charlie couldn't be sure but it vaguely resembled a certain outfit from a superhero movie starring the ever charismatic Robert Downey Jr.

At least it covered everything.

"I'll take it," she said quickly. Glancing back at the other abomination of an outfit, she threw in, "I'll still take those gloves though."

"Combining two outfits together? What is this world coming to?" Satan bemoaned. "Your generation doesn't have any tastes."

"Here is the rest of your armor," Demonius said, bringing forth a large, black, metallic bikini top and customized helm that had holes in the top to allow his horns out.

"Now that is fashionable," Satan declared.

* * *

Craig blinked his eyes, disorientation making it hard for him to focus. Why was his body so sore? And that buzzing sound…what was it? It was just droning on and on and on…

Then everything seemed to click. Where before everything felt distant and numbed somewhat but now he could feel and hear everything clearly. The buzzing hum was just the sound of multiple voices all crying out in fear and uncertainty. Many of them were asking or demanding to know where they were or what was happening.

His vision cleared up soon enough and he found himself standing amongst a large crowd of people he had never met before in a dark yet fiery place. What was all this? Last he remembered he was…he was…

…being gunned down in a diner.

Looking down, he noticed that there were bullet wounds in his body though the blood that leaked out of them had stilled. That explained the soreness actually.

Where was he anyway? He didn't recognize this place.

"Craig? Craig!" a voice called out to him. Turning his head, he spotted Clyde pushing through the crowd and towards him. There was a bullet wound in his throat and head, telling Craig that his old friend was…well hurt at least. They couldn't be dead, right?

Right?

"Oh Craig! You don't know how good it is to see a familiar face!" Clyde gushed as he embraced him. Craig was uncomfortable with the public display of emotion. "Where are we? What's going on?"

Hey, those were his questions…

"Craig? Craig!" And someone else was calling out for him. This time it was Alice who was bloodied up but her face was still pristine. "Oh Craig, are you alright? What's going on?"

And then the pattern kept happening. One by one, others who had been with him at the diner zeroed in on him and soon they were like one big, fucked up family of bullet-riddled zombie people asking where they were and what was going on. They were zombies, right?

"Vat is this place?" Anna whimpered, looking around fearfully. "I vant to go home."

"Calm down Anna," Wendy soothed, both having gunshot wounds and some burns on her body. "We'll figure things out but we have got to stay calm. We can't afford to panic."

"Actually, I think now is a good time to start panicking," Clyde said. Pointing in a seemingly random direction, he asked, "Do you see that?"

Following his finger, the group spotted a monstrous-looking creature that seemed to be staring everyone down with a sneer. It was a vicious-looking beast and Craig found he did not want to draw its attention.

"Will you put that down?" Craig hissed, yanking Clyde's arm down. "You want it to see us?"

"Hello newcomers. Welcome, can everybody hear me?" an amplified voice spoke over the din of panicked people, drawing everyone's attention towards a…stage of all things were a normal-looking guy stood. Heck, the guy had glasses! "I'm the Hell director and it looks like we have about ten thousand more of you newbies today and for those of you who are a little confused, you are dead and this is Hell. So abandon all hope and yadda yadda yadda."

They…they were in Hell? You mean that after all this…they were finally in Hell? And they were dead? But weren't they working for Heaven? Why did they come here?

"We're all going to start the orientation process which will take—" the man on the stage continued but then someone felt the need to speak up.

"Hey wait a minute! I'm a devout and loyal Christian! I shouldn't be here!" someone interrupted, complaining to the man on the stage. "I've accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior so what am I doing here?"

A very good question. Guy on stage? What's your explanation for this?

"Yes, well, I'm afraid that you were wrong," the man on the stage said.

That was all? Not a very good answer.

"But I was a servant of Islam," someone else declared, wearing something that suspiciously looked like a suicide vest.

Yeah, that guy was a servant of Islam.

"You picked the wrong religion as well," the man on the stage answered.

There was such a thing as picking the wrong religion? Huh, who would've guessed?

"But I—"

"You know what, I'm tired of having to say this time and time again. Okay? The fucking Mormons had the right one. It's like every single time, somebody has to say that their religion was right even though it should be fucking obvious right now that it wasn't. Sure, the Pearly Gates have lowered their standards a bit but you all still sinned more than enough to get here. Deal with it." The man on the stage looked like he had gotten a lot off his chest as he was taking deep breathes. Then he composed himself and returned to his more friendly demeanor. "Now, at this point in time, I would introduce your new ruler for all eternity but right now he's on his way to Earth for a big war so you'll have to make due with a short orientation ceremony. Apologies all around, blah blah blah, now please turn this way. Go to one of these tables and give them your name. You'll be given your eternal punishment schedules and accommodations and enjoy your eternal stay in Hell."

At this point, Craig and company were glancing at one another, each one worried and concerned. That war that orientation leader guy had mentioned, was it the one that Heaven and Hell were engaged in right now?

"We have to tell the angels that Satan's going to Earth!" Clyde exclaimed.

"And how do you propose we do that?" Craig asked with a drawl.

"Don't be such a downer Craig," Wendy said. "We have to do this."

"Alright, then tell me how you propose getting out of a place where we all are stuck for all eternity?" Craig asked.

"I don't…" Wendy trailed off, looking frustrated at not being able to answer him. Then she looked like she received a spurt of inspiration. "Hold on a minute. Damien comes and goes from this place all the time, doesn't he?"

"How do you know that?" Anna asked slightly meek.

"I'm assuming but he has to come down here every once in a while, right?" Wendy continued to outline her idea. "If we can find out where he goes, then we can use it to get out of here and warn everyone."

Not a bad idea except… "So you have any idea of where this way out is?" Craig asked.

"No idea," Wendy replied.

The group was silent, despair and yadda yadda yadda falling over them, blah blah blah, whatever.

"You know, since we're here to be damned for all eternity, I'm glad that it's you I'm with," Alice told him.

Well, when you have a beautiful woman like this telling you that, it made this damned for all eternity thing somewhat bearable.

* * *

Damien gazed upon the sight before him, taking in his forces as they milled about both around the designated area of their camp as well as the mortal town of South Park. Some of the demons were getting into some of the buildings and raiding them and at the moment, Damien had no care about it.

He could almost hear Kyle yelling in his ear, telling him that not doing anything about it would cost him votes in the next election. Like he really cared at this point. So long as no one saw him, he figured that it wouldn't be held against him.

At the moment, he had about a billion troops at his command and the power that came with it was intoxicating. He couldn't wait to use it all. The troops, the weapons, the strategy, everything. Once Heaven was dealt with, then Wolf would have to face the music. Heh, why wait for that? He could direct a battalion to find one of Black Market's stores and have them tear the place up without losing any military might.

Now that was an interesting thought.

"So this is it, Master Damien," Demonius said from behind him. "You have what you want. Hell's might on Earth and a battle with God. Is it all worth it?"

"I've grown up Demonius," Damien chuckled. "When I was younger, you'd be right that I would have said it was worth it. For centuries, this was how I believed my destiny would turn out. Funny how fate works."

"Introspective but now is not the time for that," Demonius said. "We must be ready for Heaven's retaliation. They will be coming soon. You know that."

"I'm just allowing the men to loosen up before they have to sacrifice their lives," Damien said. "They'll perform better if they're relaxed and not worn down by stress. But perhaps it would be wise to withdraw them out of the town. That way later I can say I negotiated their leave to the townsfolk and gain more popularity points."

"At least you are thinking about the real Apocalypse and not this dress rehearsal," Demonius said. "Your father should be up soon so I will have to attend to that shortly."

"You couldn't convince him to stay home?" Damien groaned. He just knew his father was somehow going to steal his thunder.

"You reap what you sow, Master Damien. Your deception to anger your father succeeded but at a price," Demonius remarked. "I know for a fact that Michael said none of those things at the parlay. That's not to say he didn't say them at one point somewhere else, because let's face it, Michael's a little backstabbing bitch who talks about people behind their backs. Hopefully this teaches you a lesson on being a better manipulator."

"Always trying to tutor me, eh?" Damien said, smirking.

"Pardon my bluntness but you still need it," Demonius replied.

"You're not pardoned, you ancient geezer," Damien retorted.

"Call me as many names as you want, it does not change the fact that you need to consider the consequences of your actions before you commit to them," Demonius said. Noticing a minor disturbance heading towards them, the demonic advisor asked aloud, "What is that about?"

"What is…hmm, so your eyesight hasn't abandoned you yet," Damien said as a beefy demon approached.

"Master Damien. There is a human here who is demanding to see you," the demon reported. "It's a loud thing but it did mention that it had your phone number. Do you want to see it or would you prefer that I pop its head?"

Damien glanced at Demonius then shrugged. "Bring the mortal over. It's best to see what this is about before making irreparable decisions, yes?"

The demon grunted and left to retrieve the human. The creature was back soon enough but with it was…

"It's you," Damien said blandly.

"Can you tell these things to let go of me? I bruise like a banana!" Brianna Tucker who was definitely not Brianna Vargas demanded, the mortal woman glaring at the two demons who were holding her by her arms.

"Is this not one of the mortals you brought back with you?" Demonius asked him.

"Unfortunately," Damien answered before addressing the demons. "Let her go. I will handle this."

Brianna was rudely shoved and she glared back though she was ignored at this point.

"Anything to report?" Damien asked as pleasantly as he could, arms behind his back.

"I just saw all this stuff coming out and thought that maybe I could help," Brainna said, ignoring the question. "I'm on your side."

"I know that and you are supposed to be spying on those flunkies Heaven recruited," Damien said. Leaning forward threateningly, he added, "Are you doing your job or not?"

Brianna hesitated for a second before saying, "You probably need someone around here and, I mean, it's not like you have anything to worry about Craig and those guys. There's no way they're going to get the Book of Nemesis or anything. I mean, that's impossible for them. There's nothing to worry about and wouldn't that be a waste of my talents?"

"What talents?" Damien interrupted. "You have a simple task. Why aren't you doing it? Don't tell me you lost them."

"Can't you get somebody else to do that? I can do so much more than that," Brianna babbled, voice cracking.

"You did lose them," Damien stated, Demonius snorting beside him.

"I told you about Wolf!" How cute, she was trying to make herself look good. "That has to count for something!"

"Uh huh," Damien grunted, giving the appearance of waiting for more. "Anything else?"

"Look, I can offer you so much," Brianna said, trying to bargain with him. "You're not going to be sticking around this place as mayor forever, right? You're going on to bigger and better things. Governor. Senator. President even. I can help you with all that. Really! I can!"

Damien shared a look with Demonius. "The plan for all that's already in motion and I already have assistance for that. I fail to see where you come in."

"Look, who's going to vote for someone who doesn't have a wife?" Brianna asked.

"James Buchannan, 1856 A.D." Damien answered her. "Only American president who was a bachelor. Does not mean it's impossible to not be elected without a wife."

"Times have changed," Brianna began to argue.

"I'm not interested," Damien dismissed her. "If a wife is necessary, I'll find one on my own. You're not qualified. Now, go make yourself scarce. Hide somewhere. Unless you do the job that's been given to you to preserve your mortal life, stop bothering me. I have more important things to look after."

"Is it that Kyle who is making you say all that?" Brianna demanded.

"What?" Damien frowned at the mortal.

"I bet it's him that's making you say that, isn't it?" Brianna continued. "It's okay. He's not here! You can be yourself with me. I won't judge! You're the Antichrist, what can some ginger Jew do about—"

Damien physically stopped her, seemingly teleporting to the space right in front of her and grasping her by the throat, choking her. "You can say what you want about me with your deluded little mind but refrain from badmouthing Kyle. That's something that I won't tolerate." He dug his fingers into her neck even as she grasped at his arms. "Now leave me before I hand you over to my men who won't be gentle in their treatment of you." His eyes were beginning to glow red, unobstructed by his contacts.

"Damien! Where are you? I can't find—oh there you are!"

Damien groaned and dropped Brianna, turning his back on her as he returned to Demonius' side where his father was also heading. He had no care for what the mortal would do as he had something more important approaching him. That something, a certain red behemoth, was tromping his way towards them as if he was on his way to a picnic. And he was wearing that abomination that could barely be called a suit of armor. Just a helm, gauntlets, and an expanded bikini top that happened to be made of the finest titanium alloy in Hell.

It was embarrassing just to look at the Prince of Darkness.

As the fallen angel began to open his mouth, instead of a litany of words spewing, an unexpected sneeze ripped out. Poor Demonius unintentionally was the victim of a large glob of mucus splattering on his face. Calmly, the demonic advisor reached into his robs and pulled out a small handkerchief with which to clean his face off.

"Sorry about that Demonius," Satan apologized, sniffing. "It's these damn allergens in the air. Why does the cedar count have to be so high? It's like nature doesn't want anybody to be up here this time of year!"

"It's quite alright Satan," Demonius said.

"Well, if you say so," Satan said dubiously before turning to Damien. "So how's everything been going sweetie? Are the troops obeying your every word and order? Because if they aren't, I can have a talk with them and say, 'guys, listen, I know you might not like it but you need to listen to me son this time around. It's his first time leading a war so he needs your cooperation. Okay?' They're sure to follow you to certain disaster after that."

"No thank you," Damien said slowly. Then some of what his father said reached his brain. "What do you mean by 'certain disaster'?"

"It's just an expression, honey bumpkin," Satan said dismissively.

"Father! Don't call me that in front of everyone!" Damien exclaimed, face reddening in embarrassment.

"Aw, but you'll always be the whiny brat who I had to read bible stories to at night, snot coming out of his nose and shit in his diaper," Satan reminisced.

"Father!" Damien exclaimed, embarrassment deepening.

"Don't be such a wet blanket. I swear, you act just like your father," Satan huffed.

"Huh?" Damien blinked dumbly at the Lord of Darkness.

"Ixnay on the atherfay," Demonius hissed.

"Nothing. So it seems like you have everything handled here. Ready for your second parlay?" Satan quickly changed the topic. "I can't wait for all the action to start. I got my hoofs polished and my horns sharpened for this. It's going to be so killer."

Damien eyed his father sharply. He was going to have to have a word with him about this.

That word would have to wait as on the other side of South Park, a beacon of light descended from the heavens. It was an awe-inspiring sight but it also meant that Heaven was arriving. They were moving their troops and weapons down. That meant their battle would be starting soon.

"Oh look, the flock of seagulls is arriving," Satan pointed out, using the nickname he had for the archangels as well as ruining the serious mood.

* * *

For the moment, Kyle was left all by his lonesome. From what he had heard, Wolf had ordered that they get their army reading for their highly original hostile takeover. Jay with his nuclear accelerator union buster proton pack and Nathan without anything had gone off to fulfill Wolf's wishes. Meanwhile, Wolf was absent. Conspicuously.

Without anyone to watch him, outside of some creepy spirits ordered to guard him, Kyle was free to attempt his escape.

That was going to take some time since whoever did these knots really knew out to tie them. Wasn't the first time he had been restrained to a chair and telling by the style of the knots, he had to say that the guy who tied them had a military background.

Explained quite a bit about that nutjob Jay.

Was it sad that he had been through so much in his short life that he had been restrained more times that he could count and could recognize styles of knots?

Well, regardless of that thought, it still didn't do anything to help him free himself. Since physical squirming wasn't working, he was going to have to try something different. Okay, think Kyle. You needed to get out of this and warn everybody about what Wolf was about to do. They were all walking right into his trap and without this knowledge, they would all be screwed. Look around Kyle; maybe there was something around here you could use.

Well…there was a lot around here but really nothing he could use right now. Over there was a sweet-looking yamaka that his father would be so jealous over but other than that, nothing. He had a sudden urge to ask how much that yamaka was and see if he couldn't get a good deal from Wolf—what was he thinking! The Black Market…it was bringing his Jewishness out. Must…resist! Bargain…deals! Must…buy…

Oh hey, what were those two spirits doing? They were hovering somewhat above him but they were chatting in hushed tones. At least, he thought they were hushed tones. Studying them further, he thought one of them looked familiar. No wait…he did know one of them. In fact…

"Bonnie?" he asked, capturing the attention of the blonde-haired one. "Bonnie Snyder? Is that you? But…but you had that accident…"

"You recognized me!" Bonnie exclaimed. "See, Krisa!" she told the other spirit. "I told you he would!"

"Uh huh. Right. And that does us any good how?" Krisa asked.

"What are you doing here?" Kyle asked Bonnie. "You're alive…aren't you?"

"No, I'm dead thanks to the bus driver falling asleep at the wheel," Bonnie sighed, slumping in on herself. "I was so looking to that reunion. But when the bus went off the mountain…the next thing I knew I was here."

"I'm not going to be questioning that," Kyle said. "But I need your help Bonnie. I can't get loose and I need to warn everyone. Can you help me?"

Bonnie bit the spiritual projection of her lip in uncertainty. "I'm sorry Kyle but I don't think I can. I want to, really, but I can't."

"What? Why not!" Kyle exclaimed. "Everybody we know is in danger!" Thinking about what he knew about her, he knew this was manipulative of him but it had to be done. "Kenny is in danger!"

"Kenny's in danger!" Bonnie looked torn in two. "Ooooh I want to so much…but I can't!"

"Wolf has complete control of us," Krisa stated to him bluntly. "He told us not to let you go and to watch you. I would be the first to untie you but it's like Bonnie said. I can't. We can't."

Kyle looked down in thought. Then an idea came to him. "What about loosening my knots?" he asked.

"What?" Krisa blinked at him.

"Did Wolf say anything about not loosening my knots?" Kyle pressed.

"He told us not to let you go," Krisa repeated.

"Did he specifically tell you not to loosen my knots?" Kyle reiterated.

"Well…not specifically…" Krisa said, uncertain.

"Did he tell you not to loosen my knots or not!" Kyle nearly snapped, shaking in his chair.

"No," Bonnie said.

"Alright, no he did not tell you not to loosen my knots," Kyle said. "Right now, I think I'm starting to lose circulation in my hands. Did Wolf say anything about not loosening my knots so I can get circulation back into my hands?"

"No," Bonnie said.

"No he didn't," Krisa added, eyes starting to widen in realization of what Kyle was up to.

"So…ladies, could either of you loosen my knots so that I can get some circulation in my hands?" Kyle asked pleasantly.

Bonnie looked at Krisa and shrugged. "We could try," she said as she floated around him. Kyle felt discomfort as he felt the spectral presence of Bonnie's ghostly hands brush against his own as they fiddled with the ropes restraining him. It was like pressing something extremely cold on your skin but then move it away for less than a second just to press right back again.

"How is that?" Bonnie asked as she moved away.

Sticking the tip of his tongue out, Kyle renewed his struggle with the rope wrapped around him. Yeah, it was much looser now. Okay…let's try this…maybe if he…whoa his hand was really moving around…and…ah ha!

He managed to slip a hand out then got to work freeing the other hand. Yes! Success! He was halfway home now! Once both of his hands were free, it was only a matter of time until he was freeing himself from the chair, no longer bound. Yep, it was almost like old times. Yeah…like old times…damn his childhood sucked.

"Thanks," he told Bonnie, rubbing his legs to get the blood flowing through them.

"How were you…?" Krisa trailed, somewhat surprised at this turn of events.

"I always look for loopholes. You gotta keep on your toes when you live the life I have," Kyle said. "Most antagonists I face have a streak of stupidity and it's just using that. Wolf's an uncreative asshole who's trying hard to be a bad guy. He'd say something about not letting me go but wouldn't think about what would happen if something like the ropes holding me were loosened. Then again, most people don't think of that."

"Wow…maybe you could help us escape his control with these loopholes of yours," Krisa exclaimed.

"I don't know how he has control over your souls but I think the best thing to do is tell someone who can do something about this," Kyle said. "I need to tell Damien or Demonius, maybe Satan himself if I have to. Don't worry, I won't leave you here to this aborted freak's mercy."

"Hey, you can't leave us here!" Krisa exclaimed. "We helped you!"

"I'm sorry Krisa, I'm just a normal guy," Kyle said, looking around the room one last time, searching for the exit. "I don't have supernatural powers or any…or any…thing…"

Because he hadn't been looking at the spirit he was talking to and had been looking around, he spied out something that had slipped his mind altogether. Having not expected him to get free, Wolf had left the Book of Nemesis nearby, completely open for anyone to take. Personally, if he had been in Wolf's shoes, he wouldn't have left the Book anywhere and carried it around on his person.

Still didn't change the fact that it was laying right there.

Approaching it, Kyle marveled at this seemingly innocuous book that you wouldn't think had the power to alter the future. With a stroke of a pen, you could change fate itself.

This was what this was all about. The power of this Book. The power to do whatever you wanted. So long as it remained in the possession of someone like Wolf, no one would be safe.

"Kyle? What are you doing?" Bonnie asked, peeking over his shoulder. "Shouldn't you be trying to get out of here?"

"Huh? Oh yeah." Kyle tightened his jaw in determination. Somehow, he had known from the beginning of all this shit, no matter what happened…he was going to be the one that cleaned up the mess. Wasn't that always the way?

Picking up the Book of Nemesis, Kyle knew that it was time to start cleaning shit up.

* * *

"I hope you know I'm going out on a limb for you," Charlie told the Bain-possessed Agent Smith as she adjusted the really tight leather outfit. At least she thought it was leather. Didn't feel like it and it didn't behave like leather either. "You're lucky that Satan wasn't dead set on you getting out of Smith."

"_Is that so?" _Bain said was still fiddling with Winslow, not in the least bit paying attention to anything.

"Hey! Snap out of it!" Charlie reprimanded him, fixing the long v-line of her collar. She balled her fists when Bain glanced at her then resumed what he was doing. Jesus, what was up with him? "Hey asshole, I'm talking to you!"

"_That you are,"_ Bain replied.

"Why aren't you more concerned about this?" she demanded. What was going through that psychotic bastard's head? She had never really seen him like this, especially when she happened to be nearby. It was like he was…he was out of it or something.

"_Why should I be?"_ Bain drawled out, sparing his green eye to look at her. _"I'm already dead Charlotte. There's no changing that. Anything I do now have no consequences."_

"I thought you'd be thrilled or something to be in the driver's seat of Agent Smith," Charlie said. "Not just anybody can say that. And don't say there're no consequences. If there's any place in existence that can make you suffer despite the fact that you're bound to that knife of yours, it's probably Hell."

"_Point,"_ Bain acknowledged.

"And if you do a good job, they might be nice and bring you back to life," Charlie continued. Now if there was anything that she could be pulling out of her ass right now, that was it. She didn't like the way Bain was behaving and she was trying to bring out the one that she knew all too well. The easily irritated and homicidal Bain.

"_You know they'll do that?"_ Bain asked and it looked like he was perking up at that.

"They'll have to if they know what's good for them," Charlie replied, almost lying through her teeth.

"_I assume you're taking care of my body in the meantime?"_

The image of Bain's rotting corpse still in City Hall, flies buzzing all around it as it lied in a pool of blood popped into her head. Yeah…she had kinda forgotten about it.

"Do you even have to ask?" she retorted, making a mental note to get her hands on that body as soon as possible.

Bain was eyeing her, as if looking for any falsehood from her. Oh what, after all they've been through, he didn't trust her? Not that she didn't blame him or anything. No one alive knew her like he did. Crap, that was insensitive. He wasn't alive anymore, idiot.

Somewhat to her relief and concern, Bain shrugged and dropped the topic. There was that disinterest again. Is this what death did to a person?

"You know, you're going to have to show more liveliness than this," Charlie told him. "You're going to be doing whatever it is that Agent Smith does to take on Kenny or whatever he's going to call himself. If you suck, we're both screwed. And not in a good way."

"_If you are worried about me jeopardizing your position in Hell, do not fret,"_ Bain said. _"I've handled McCormick before. I'll do it again. All you need to do is annihilate the forces of Heaven while I deal with that pathetic excuse of a vigilante."_

"Don't get a big head," she told him. "It's like Satan said, pride before the fall."

"_What does it matter? I'm already dead,"_ Bain shrugged carelessly.

"Until we can get you back in your body," Charlie said. "And we will."

"_That's great,"_ Bain said.

"Oh will you snap out of it!" Charlie snapped and threw a punch at him. She would have decked him but Bain caught the punch with ease. Wait, he had never been able to do that before. Heck, even Bain looked confused at what his possessed hand was doing.

"_It seems though I am in control, the body will still act on its own,"_ Bain said.

"You did that without thinking?" Charlie pulled back her fist if only to make sure Bain didn't try to rip it off. She gave the retrieved arm the task of inserting an unholy knife into a holster that was sewn onto her upper leg. "Hey, maybe you think Smith's mind is influencing yours so that's why you're acting more of a prick than usual?"

"_Possibly,"_ Bain shrugged.

This possession stuff was complicated. "Hope you're ready. We're going topside," she told him. Clenching and unclenching her fists to make sure that the fingerless gloves weren't obstructing her normal hand maneuverability, she led the way as Bain followed, still fiddling with Winslow like it wasn't going out of style.

* * *

A change of venue was in order after Melanie made it back from her attempt to drive out the creatures that were roaming about the streets, driving down the housing values. It wasn't a successful attempt and somewhat fearing that those monsters would try to come in here, Conner spirited Melanie to his and Dilan's place to try and wait this thing out.

You have no idea how hard it was to get Melanie to consider leaving her home. You also have no idea how hard it was to get her to lay down so that she could recover from that gash on her forehead. Had he forgotten to mention that? Yeah, she got a battle wound or whatever you called it after trying to bash a monster's brains out with a baseball bat.

The bat broke before the creature's skull did if you were wondering.

Peeking through the closed blinds, Conner said mostly to himself, "We should be safe here. Hopefully they won't try to break in."

There was a groan from the couch where Melanie lay but other than that, no verbal response that had words in it came.

"What are we going to do?" Conner muttered to himself as he pulled his hand away from the blinds and allowed his view of the street outside to be covered up. "Why is this happening?" Damn it he was scared shitless and anxious as shit. If he smoked, he would have already lit up. Too bad he cared too much for his health and everything.

Where had those things come from anyway? Just by looking at them he didn't feel safe, even in his own home. He wasn't cut out for this kind of thing! He just made wedding dresses, that so happened to be for some A-list celebrities and the like, and had no idea how to survive whatever apocalypse this was. It didn't look like a zombie, a Mayan, or a robot apocalypse. Gasp! What if it was THE Apocalypse! Was this the end times?

And it had to happen _now_?

He was backed up with orders and everything and had a show to do in San Francisco! This could not come at a worse time. And let's not forget he was fulfilling his promise to Melanie to make her dress for her Big Day.

Speaking of which, where was that fat bastard that agreed to be her husband? Knowing his luck, things were only going to get worse from here on out and the only way that would happen is if that fat plumber showed up.

He heard the sound of a key fitting into a lock and he wondered briefly if Melanie had somehow given that homophobe the house key.

Much to his relief, it was not that plumber; it was someone much better and preferable.

"Dilan!" he exclaimed, glad to see a friendly face. Yep, it was his housemate, long absent but finally back. Wow, he looked excited about something. Hadn't had a look like that on his face since the day he, Conner, agreed to help him pay the mortgage. "Do you know what's going on out there?" he asked instead. "Everything's going to hell!"

"I know," Dilan said excitedly, catching Conner off guard. "Isn't it amazing?"

That had Melanie sitting straight up; you could hear the sounds of her bones grinding together as she did that, her neck almost creaking as it turned to face the Satanist. "Amazing? They're driving down the housing values!"

"They are? What can you do?" Dilan shrugged.

"Those things are everywhere!" Conner exclaimed, trying to get things back on track. "What are we going to do?"

"They won't hurt you if you don't provoke them," Dilan shrugged, pausing as a thought occurred to him. "I think."

"You know what these things are?" Melanie demanded.

"Demons from the bowels of Hell," Dilan shrugged. "They have a big camp set up outside of town and they're getting ready for a showdown with Heaven which…" he headed towards a window as he trailed off, opening the closed blinds to reveal a large pillar of light beaconing down from the sky, "…should be happening real soon."

Melanie stared at the Satanist, mouth opening and closing until finally huffing out, "Don't tell me you're involved with all this."

"Yep," Dilan confirmed cheerfully.

"What?" Melanie stared at him aghast. "You mean…? What?"

"This is why you've been gone so long?" Conner asked, voice small as he stared at Dilan with a lost expression.

"Sorry about that but things have been so exciting," Dilan explained, not really paying close attention to Conner. "I got to meet Satan himself! You wouldn't believe the things I've seen. I just came back to see if you guys were all right. Looks like you've been handling yourselves."

"Damn right!" Melanie thundered. "Do something about those things before they make the neighborhood next to worthless!"

"Well, if they win the battle, then they'll be gone off to the Pearly Gates," Dilan mused. "And I don't think they will listen to me despite being a follower of their dark ruler."

"So we have to wait this thing out?" Conner asked.

"Pretty much," Dilan said as he headed over to the kitchen. "All this biblical shit is making me hungry. Do we have anything?"

"This is possibly the end of the world and you're going to have a snack?" Conner asked incredulously.

"End of the world? Who told you that?" Dilan asked, sticking his head back out into the living room. "This is a big misunderstanding cause by Heaven because they think this is the apocalypse but that thing won't be happening for a while. Who told you it was the apocalypse?"

Conner shared a look with Melanie, recalling what Cartman had told them.

_Quick, I need to find something that can kill aborted spawns of Satan!_

This wouldn't happen to be related, would it?

* * *

Due to what happened last time, it was decided that a smaller parlay team would be sent. You know, in case someone needed to flee quickly.

Not wanting his authoritah—excuse him—authority disrespected any further than it already was, Michael had convinced the Second Coming to stay behind while he, Gabriel, and Uriel met up with the representatives of Hell.

Apparently under the same thinking, there was only half the number on Hell's side but one of those members was a surprising sight.

"Lucifer," Michael hissed as he glared at the red abomination. "I should have known you'd show up sooner or later."

"Yeah, nice to see you too, Mikey," Satan said, rolling his eyes.

Michael narrowed his eyes. "I thought I told you to stop calling me that! I'm the one you kicked your red ass out of Heaven. You should show more respect!"

"Puh-leeeze, as if you've done anything since that would make me do that," Satan scoffed.

Michael narrowed his eyes at his eternal nemesis but preferred instead to address the demonspawn at the Prince of Darkness' side instead. He ignored Demonius and that Zazul character as he said, "All right, let's get this over with Antichrist. Make your offer."

"I'm surprised you don't have my counterpart here," Damien said, red eyes boring into the archangel who was unaffected by the stare. He was made of sterner stuff than mortals, thank you very much. "He's not running late, is he?"

"He has more important things to do that chitchat with you, demonspawn," Michael sneered. "Get on with it or do I have to?"

"You're beginning to overstep yourself Michael," Gabriel warned. "Parlays are supposed to be civilized and—"

"And can we get on with this?" Demonius interrupted. "We all know how this is going to turn out so let's go through the motions and get this over with so we can get busy killing one another."

"Demonius!" Satan exclaimed, shocked.

"I apologize, my Lord, but this specimen of angel tends to bring out the worst in me," Demonius apologized.

"Don't we all," Damien replied and then spoke to the archangel. "Like he said, let's get this over with. We're a billion strong, we have a lot firepower, surrender and all that and get out of our way. How's that for an offer?"

"Your offer sucks," Uriel blurted out. "Sorry," the archangel said when Michael glared at him.

"That's my line," Michael reprimanded. Then, "Your offer sucks."

"Still unoriginal," Satan sighed.

"Screw you, you red-colored tub of lard," Michael snapped at the devil.

"Better than being a bland cereal mascot," Satan retorted. When he got puzzled looks, the fallen angel huffed. "Don't you guys remember? Those old commercials? _Life_ cereal. There's those kids who don't want to eat it and decide to give it to another kid who won't eat anything and he does eat it and he likes it. _Mikey_ likes it."

"I remember those," Gabriel said. "We teased Michael about them for…well we still do."

"I am so glad I inspired those," Satan said.

"That was _you_?" Michael demanded. "_You_ made those commercials?! Do you know what hell I've had to put up with because of those?"

"A lot?" Uriel answered helpfully.

"We get the idea Uriel, thanks," Michael snapped in disgruntlement. Back to Hell's parlay team, "You know, for that alone I'm tempted to go straight to the battle."

"It was already a forgone conclusion that a fight was going to start," Satan shrugged. "You could never stand to be teased or proven wrong. You're the biggest Debbie Downer I've ever known."

"Shut up!" Michael said after a moment of struggling.

"Sucky come back aside, what's your answer," Damien asked, getting back to business. "Will you surrender and spare this town the apocalyptic destruction it's about to face?"

"No matter what, we will always stand for good and against all evil," Michael stated, drawing himself up straighter. "If anything, this is _your_ last chance to give up on this insanity, spawn of Satan. This won't be like last time because we won't be holding back."

"What do you know, neither will we," Damien replied.

"So that's the way it is, huh? War," Michael stated. "Have it your way then. We'll kick your asses and send them back to Hell, Fedex."

"More like the post office," Damien chuckled.

"Nice," Satan commended.

"Hey, don't twist my awesome, sure-to-be quotes," Michael hissed. "For that, I'm not going to hold back any of this ass kicking."

"More like ass kissing," Satan retorted. "You haven't kicked any ass except your own when I successfully conned a bunch of rednecks out of their hard-earned cash, including you!"

"You didn't!" Gabriel gasped.

"Hey, you did the same after finding out he'd been working out," Michael defended himself. "Your treachery, Satan, has not diminished in the thousands of years since your banishment. These negotiations are over. Next we meet, we fight!"

"Finally," Satan said. "We almost parlayed for too long. If we hurry, we can still catch the beginning of that show that's big right now."

"Oh, that's going on? Fine, after we watch that show that's big right now, then we'll fight," Michael declared. Raising a fist up in the air, he yelled out, "Kaplar!" Gabriel and Uriel responded in kind.

"Freaking geeks," Demonius muttered as the parlay ended.


	22. The Battle of South Park

Author's Note: I apologize for the delay but when you have Finals and a bout of writer's block halfway through the chapter, it takes time to get it done. But it's done and it's long. Real long. Lots of stuff. Lots of action. Lots of death. You name it. Two more chapters to go after this. Now, I did my best to edit this chapter, look through it to get as many of the errors as I could but I'm sure there's a bunch of them lurking around. Feel free to tell me about them. Remember, the poll's still up so get your votes in. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, violence, death

The Battle of South Park

An image flickers, the letters REC in the upper right corner as the empty streets of South Park are observed.

"It was just a few minutes ago when the monsters disappeared. They just…left. Now everything's quiet. I hope the blu-ray players are okay," Randy Marsh narrates. "Maybe it all has to do with that light thing over there." The view jostles and settles upon a beacon of light just outside of town, Sharon Marsh happening to be in the way. "Hey Sharon? Can you move to a side? I can't get a good shot."

"Randy! How did you…? Do I have to break that thing?" Sharon exclaims.

"Come on Sharon! Just look at that thing! Hey, why don't you stand up and get in front of that thing? Huh? Come on. Wait, here, let me move." More jostling until the standing Sharon Marsh appears to be right in the middle of the pillar of light. "This is so awesome. It's like you're descending from Heaven…or one of those anime characters!"

"Randy, for God's sake, can you put that thing down?" Jimbo yells at him, Randy turning the camera to view his brother.

"Put it down? But…but how else are we going to be able to look at this and laugh at all the stupid stuff we do? We might forget something! You're going to thank me for it later."

"RANDY!" Sharon explodes as she launches herself at Randy and the picture goes into a fuzz.

The fuzz goes away but now only Randy is in the shot.

"Okay, I'm going to have to be careful and stealth…y with this," Randy tells the camera. "The others are so jealous that they didn't to grab their cameras so they can get some awesome shots. Well, sucks to be them, I'm going to get every single minute of—what's that!"

Randy turns the camera so that now a large crowd marching through the streets could be seen. However, these weren't the monsters from before. They looked like normal people…except they were wearing shiny armor, carrying flaming swords and shields, and each one had a pair of white, feathery wings.

"Oh, awesome! It's like it's an army of angels! God hasn't forsaken us! Hey! Hey you guys down there! Smile and wave at the camera! Smile and wave—whoa! Almost fell off there for a second. Gotta keep my balance. Hey! HEY! Up here! Smile and wave for the camera! Why won't they smile and wave for the camera? Why…oh my God."

The camera's picture blurs for a second and when it stops, it's on a crowd of those monsters from beforehand, this time more organized and marching their way to the angels.

"Oh. My. God. It's like they're going to fight! Are they going to fight? Oh please fight, it'll look killer for the camera," Randy narrates excitedly. Whipping to the angels and back to the monsters several times, Randy continues, "Some ass is about to be kicked, I'm sure of it. Okay, they're stopped. Are they waiting for something? Oh, what are we going to do? What are we…going…to…they're saying something right now. Oh…oh! They're charging!" The angels and monsters began running at each other, weapons drawn and voices roaring. "They're charging! They're charging! They're—whoa!"

A violent clash as the armies engaged in battle rang out through the streets of South Park.

* * *

Charlie kept her eyes on Bain as the possessing spirit fiddled with the golden Nintendo DS. She ignored Damien's declaration that the fight had started, preferring instead to watch what Bain was going to do to make sure that he could handle himself.

"You know what you're doing?" she asked.

"_Not a clue,"_ Bain replied.

"You can't tell me you've never played a DS before," Charlie said.

"_More of a PSP kind of guy,"_ Bain answered.

"And you didn't think to tell me of this before?" Charlie almost exclaimed, not wanting to alert anyone else to this latest development.

"_That's because I'm not going to play McCormick's game,"_ Bain said. _"I prefer to play by my own rules."_

"Your rules are going to screw us both over," she hissed at him.

"_Only time will tell,"_ Bain said as he raised a hand up, fingers pressed together. He stabbed his hand fingers first into the DS' screen, not breaking the device but actually entering it. _"If you will excuse me."_ Then the rest of the Bain-possessed Agent Smith snaked into the screen of the DS until there was not a sign of the possessed computer program.

On top of the chair that he had been sitting in, the golden Nintendo DS lay still, its screen showing a scrambled display.

"What is he up to?" Charlie wondered.

* * *

"Quickly now Mysterion, the battle has begun!" Michael exclaimed as he ushered the masked vigilante to a seat overlooking the town of South Park. "Our forces began to combat theirs before we could get you situated. I hope that won't interfere—"

"I doubt it will make a difference so long as we don't have too many casualties," Mysterion interrupted. "Give the PSP here and I'll do what I can."

"Right, of course," Michael agreed as he handed over the golden PSP.

Mysterion was in no mood for any of the usual antics. After their defeat last time, he was itching to get some payback. Turning the PSP on, he waited for it to load up, growing impatient with each second that passed.

Why'd they have to start before he could be set up? Sounded like someone jumped the gun early. No matter. He knew what needed to be done and hopefully Agent Smith's interference wouldn't compromise them another victory.

The PSP finished loading and as the dark hero settled his eyes on the screen, he was surprised when he found not an option menu but the face of Agent Smith himself peering right back at him.

"What the…?"

"_Hello Mr. Anderson,"_ Agent Smith greeted and the next thing Mysterion knew, a hand spat out from the screen and grabbed him by the face. He was then pulled into the PSP, the golden device clattering on the chair that someone had thoughtfully set up for him.

"Mysterion?" Michael spoke, bewildered at how their Keanu Reeves had suddenly been dragged right into their army commanding device. "What just happened?"

"Hey guys, what I'd miss?" Gary greeted, taking a place next to the stunned archangel, golf club in hand. "Where's Kenny—I mean, Mysterion?"

Michael turned to the Second Coming, unable to explain what he had seen.

* * *

The absence of the two strategists were soon felt on the battlefield. Without any direction, it was mass chaos.

Swords clanged against shields and other swords. Claws tore into angelic flesh. Fire ravaged demonic bodies. Holy and unholy blood spilt on the asphalt of the streets and sidewalks. Storefronts were vandalized.

Mass hysteria with a medieval touch.

An angel cleaved off the head of an enemy demon, twisting and twirling his way through the multitudes of smaller fights, intervening here and there with a lethally place slice or slash. Whenever a demon tried to come at him, he would use his wings to flap his way out of harm's way and then dive bomb to aid one of his fellow angels who were in need. A well placed slash of his fiery sword embedded itself in a demon's skull and a practiced pull had the blade out and ready to block a demon attacking from his left.

Slice, slice, parry, thrust, and he had the attacking demon impaled with his sword. A pull and another slash had this demon sliced in two. A quick duck under a swinging cudgel and a lunge-assisted thrust slew another demon. This angel was sure a veteran of the last conflict with Hell and his fighting style reflected it.

He struck at another demon that was giving one of his fellow angels trouble but before he could do anything else, it was his turn to be slain as a large axe slammed into the top of his skull.

The demon pulled his axe back and a simple swing had the angel's corpse flying away. A backwards slash cut foe and ally alike, everything in front of the demon falling to the ground in pieces.

"You team killing fucktard!" a dying demon cried out.

Freaking weakling.

The demon threw himself into a small gathering of angels, making quick work of them. As the demon massacred his prey, an angel managed to separate from his slaughtered comrades and disappear into the chaos of the battle. It was a young angel who was participating in his first battle but had yet to take a life before so he was somewhat…n00bish. It was a miracle he hadn't been killed yet.

Scratch that; he just backed up into a demon who took the opportunity to shove his head to a side, exposing his neck and allowing sharp, jagged teeth to piece the flesh. The angel died screaming, or would have had his throat not been ripped out.

He was quickly avenged by a fellow angel who cut the offending demon's head off.

Ignoring the slain demon, the angel made quick work of a spidery demon that had thrown itself at him and then had a quick fight with a neighboring demon who picked a fight with him. Slash, clang, swing, dodge, thrust, parry, slash, slash, clang, and thwunk. Got ya, ya bastard. Another demon was down.

The victorious angel paused as he saw a fellow angel charge at him with a spear. All it took was leaning his head to a side, the spear passing right by him and into a demon behind him that had been about to bean him in the head with a club. The angel returned the favor to his comrade by dispatching the demon creeping up behind the spear-wielding angel. A nod of thanks and the two split up in search of more bloody carnage.

Meanwhile, two demons picked up a trashcan and threw it into a storefront window, setting off the building's alarm system. Nearby combatants paused in what they were doing to look at the two demons who seemed a bit sheepish.

"It was the way things were going," one of the two demons defended.

"Dude, not cool," a random demon said reproachfully.

The two offended demons bowed their heads in shame and headed off to more active parts of the battle. Once out of sight, the paused combatants resumed their fighting as if nothing had happened.

A sword here sliced a throat, a shield there parried a potentially deadly blow, arrows flew overhead, sometimes striking winged angels or demons and sometimes not. On the outskirts of the wartorn town, Heavenly obelisks sat in vigil, unused due to a certain Keanu Reeves' absence. Without direction on where to fire these things, the angels manning them wouldn't dare shoot a blast and risk hitting their side.

Hell was not as benevolent. Catapults were continuously fired, their payloads hitting anything in their way, sometimes angels, sometimes demons, and once or twice the buildings. The resulting fires weren't pretty but remained contained somewhat and didn't spread out far.

One fiery molten rock catapulted into the town struck the ground and bounced forth, continuing on a deadly path that brought it close to a certain community center where a mortal holding a camera exclaimed, "Did you see that? I am so startled right now!"

An angel who wasn't paying attention was splattered by one of the molten projectiles, his unexpected game over mourned by his comrades who soon declared vengeance in his name, dive-bombing into the demonic hoards below. They were massacred by pikes that were raised up to meet them, their momentum serving only to further impale them.

Demons snarled at the angelic blood splashing on them but did nothing to wipe it off, pressing forward into the enemy ranks before them. Without any direction from the Anti-Keanu Reeves, they did what they did best, slaughtering and mutilating everything in sight. The angels for their part held their own, unsure of what to do other than to survive.

* * *

Okay, this was it. He had the Book of Nemesis in his possession. Now he just needed to get out of here. With no one else watching him, Kyle snuck out from the backroom of Black Market, having to keep his eyes on the front entrance so that he wouldn't be tempted by all the sweet deals around him, tempting him to make a purchase.

It was a siren call really; low prices and anything and everything you could ever want in one place. It was like Wall Mart but on a much smaller scale and he didn't have the same fortitude he did when he was a child.

But he needed to be resolute and not be distracted. Especially since there was this two-piece suit he had had his eye on for quite some time in the corner and at an affordable price for what he made as a mayoral aide.

Salvation was just a mere hundred feet away from. He had to remain strong and ignore the buzzing in his head, the buzzing that tried to wheedle him into openly browsing the wares all around him.

Must endure! Can't…prove…Cartman…right!

Okay, he was halfway there now. Whoa. What was that? Did the price for that screwdriver set go down? It was as if Black Market was trying to stop him from getting out! Keep your cool Kyle. Don't scream in terror or you'd alert the last people who needed to know he was free to his unrestrained status.

Oh God, just over there. Shampoo and conditioner specially made to tame his wildly curly locks. Erm…oh no, bedroom slippers! The kind that made your feet all toasty but you could use to walk outside in! Dear Moses, was that a "Commit-the-Perfect-Crime" kit over there?

Keep it together, you're almost there Kyle. Just a few more steps. Just a few…more…steps…and…

He released a sigh of relief. He was at the door and he hadn't been discovered yet. Black Market had failed to entice him in stopping to potentially purchase something. He was going to miss this place, you know. Where else could he get great deals on the things he desperately wanted? He knew for sure that Damien wasn't going to allow this place to remain standing once he was through with Wolf.

Hand on the door handle, he pushed it open, fresh air greeting his nose and—

—he was jerked backwards, the world spinning for a bit until he was stomach first on the floor, one of his arms twisted behind his back and held there by an incredibly strong grip.

"Where do you think you're going?" Nathan hissed at him.

Now how could this be happening? What, did one of them come out to check on him and discover that he was missing? Most likely. Why'd they have to discover his escape act this soon? He wasn't done completing it yet!

Stomps on the floor approached him and he found himself being lifted up off the floor by a very large, purple hand. Wolf's deformed and snouted face glared at him contemptuously, another large, purple hand patting him down and pulling out the pilfered Book of Nemesis.

"That wasn't a wise move, Mr. Broflovski," Wolf said. Holding the Book out for the Jew to see, he said, "This is my property now and I don't tolerate thieves."

"Funny. Isn't that what you are?" Kyle retorted, speaking before thinking. Crap, that was not the right thing to say.

"Why don't you smoke his honky ass already?" Jay asked, coming around from the side of Wolf.

"Not a bad idea but I still want to see Damien's face when I parade this meat shield in front of him," Wolf sneered at Kyle, his hot breath making Kyle want to gag from its odor. "You're not playing—"

"—the odds, friend, I know that line too," Kyle interrupted, knowing he was screwed already. He was screwed the moment he had been caught.

"Don't interrupt me," Wolf whined at him and for a moment, Kyle could see that Wolf had inherited some of Satan's traits. "I'm trying to be intimidating here."

"Don't speak as much," Kyle said, not really caring about what happened to him anymore.

"He's got a point," Jay admitted, glancing at Wolf from the corner of his eye. "You do make a scary figure by just standing around but then you open your mouth…"

Nathan shrugged, nonverbally agreeing.

"You two are assholes," Wolf growled. "And _you_," he directed at Kyle as he spun around, carrying the young man back to the backroom, "I'm going to keep a personal eye on you. You won't be making another escape attempt…how did you escape from those souls anyway?" Wolf paused in the middle of his sentence as something occurred to him. That, and there was the sight of Bonnie and Krisa floating by the chair Kyle had been tied to.

Not wanting to give away his talent for finding loopholes, Kyle said the first thing that came to mind. "I…uh…I used…Jew magic." Fuck, he was sounding like Cartman now!

"Yes! We were…overcome…by Jew magic," Krisa picked up.

"Yeah…" Bonnie agreed unconvincingly. "His Jew magic was too much for us."

There was no way anyone could believe that sorry excuse.

"I knew you pagans had magic," Wolf sneered.

He stood corrected.

"I'm not a pagan. I'm Jewish," Kyle said slowly, looking at Wolf bewildered.

"Pagan, Jewish, it's all the same," Wolf shrugged. "Now you're going back there and you're going to dispel that Jew magic you casted on those souls of mine. I will not be hindered because of your pagan mysticism!"

All of his hate, Wolf. All of his hate.

* * *

"Oh God, what are we going to do? What are we going to do!" Michael cried out, panicking already.

"Calm down, we'll figure something out," Gary tried to soothe the distressed archangel. "Can't somebody else use it? Try to direct the troops until we can get Kenny back?"

There was a cry from where the blond had last seen the golden PSP and Gary found Uriel standing there, fingers in his mouth as he tried to soothe the pain he had just experienced. Once his fingers were out, the archangel explained, "It shocked me! What's happening?"

Further investigation of the golden PSP found the words "NO HELPING" on the screen. Okay…so they couldn't touch the thing.

"Don't we have a spare somewhere around here?" Gary asked, looking to Michael.

"No, the golden PSP is one of a kind," Michael said, tears threatening to escape his eyes.

"We don't have to use the golden PSP or a PSP in general. Do we have something else we could use?" Gary pressed.

"Well, we do have an Xbox 360 somewhere around here but that thing's ancient. It's like…like a Xbox," Gabriel answered. "Plus we'd need to get the big screen out so we can use it. The PSP is so portable that it makes sense carrying that thing around."

"Even if we did set it up, we'd still need someone to play it," Michael bemoaned. "It's gotta be someone with thousands upon thousands of hours of gaming experience. They have to have countless hours of play and leveling up and…and…and anything else that's important to gaming! Kenny…Mysterion was the only person we had who satisfied that criteria!"

Gary, however, had stopped listening halfway through Michael's explanation. Very uncharacteristic of him but he had a reason. He had an idea of what to do but he was going to have to act quickly before they had a total breakdown here.

"Gabriel, I need you to take me back to Heaven," he ordered. "You guys, get it all set up. I'll be right back. I know someone who has thousands upon thousands of hours of gaming experience. It'll be quick."

"Didn't you hear—" Michael began to protest.

"Just do it!" Gary interrupted. "You gotta trust me on this. I know what I'm doing. Gabriel? Anytime now."

The archangel he was speaking to nodded and then the existence of Earth phased away until they were back in the heavenly city of Heaven. Saying a quick thanks, Gary rushed off, knowing that every second mattered here. It took him a few minutes but he found the break room for the various representatives of the various religions on Earth, right where he had left the others to wait until different quarters could be found for them.

"Gary?" Stan stared at him, confused at his sudden arrival. "What—"

Interrupting for the second time this day, a new record he might add, he rushed up to Kyra and grabbed her by the shoulders. "No time. Kyra, I need you to come with me right now."

"What? Gary? What are you talking about?" the young woman asked, caught off guard by his actions.

"Something's come up and you're the best person I can think of who can help," Gary said. "I'll explain on the way, okay?"

"What are you doing?" Stan demanded, grabbing Gary by his shoulder.

"I can't explain right now; time is of the essence," Gary said quickly. "Look, you want to be helpful, right? Can you go speak with On…Ong…that angel with the name that starts with an O? He should be watching over the battle and we could use what he knows about what's happening. Thanks a lot guys, I owe you one."

And then he was dragging Kyra out of the break room and back towards Gabriel.

"Gaarrryyyy!" Kyra cried out, practically tripping over her feet as she tried to keep up with his hurried pace. "What's the deal?"

"Kenny can't help direct our forces and no one can use the PSP," Gary said quickly. "Michael and Uriel should be setting up our backup system but we need to be quick. Where's Gab—there he is!"

"What are you doing Second Coming?" Gabriel wondered, having the same bewildered face on as Kyra did.

Grabbing Gabriel, Gary ordered in his most authoritative voice, "Earth. Now."

Without a second thought, Gabriel transported them back to where their command center was set up, a large television set being a new addition to the place while Uriel was busy untangling wires, trying to hook the ordinary-looking Xbox 360 to it. Michael spotted them almost immediately and made his way over to them.

"Care to explain what you're up to, Second Coming?" the archangel asked in a pleasant voice that also carried a tone that conveyed that he would not tolerate whimsical excuses.

"You said that we needed someone with countless hours of video gaming experience, right? Kyra has that experience!" Gary explained, patting said girl on the shoulder.

Michael stared flabbergasted at the Mormon. "But…but she's a girl!"

"That is incredibly sexist and not all gamers are guys," Gary said. "Have you seen her play Halo? I have no idea how many people she's caused to have nervous breakdowns after they've played against her."

"One thousand, six hundred thirty-eight," Kyra said quietly.

"See?" Gary said. "At the very least, she can hold them off until we can get Kenny back."

"I don't know," Michael said with uncertainty.

"Oh for Christ's sake," Gary swore, mind scrambling to come up with anything that could bolster his case. "Um…oh! Once, she played a game of Wii golf against God and won."

"She's the one!" Uriel exclaimed, looking up from the tangle of wires that now included him. "But God cheats like hell in golf! She's the fabled one?"

"It wasn't easy," Kyra said.

"We might just stand a chance," Gabriel said. "It was once foretold that—"

"No time, is that thing set up?" Gary asked Uriel.

Looking at the mess that he was immersed in, Uriel said, "Almost?"

"Gary, what do you want me to do? What is this all about?" Kyra asked, redirecting his attention to her.

"I thought I already told you. Kenny was sucked into the PSP and now we don't have anyone who can direct Heaven's forces. We need someone who has played a lot of video games so that they can work whatever system we have set up for this," Gary said. "You're the only one who can do this Kyra. We don't have a lot of time."

"The Xbox 360 is a true creation of man and not inspired by Heaven like Sony's Playstation systems or inspired by Hell like Nintendo," Gabriel said. "How do explain why those Chinpokomon games are so addictive? Michael, this is the best chance we got until we can get back Keanu Reeves. It's either certain defeat or uncertain defeat at this point."

"Fine, we'll give her try," Michael grumbled, looking away like a pouting child.

"Great! Kyra? Will you help?" Gary said then turned to the young woman.

Kyra looked undecided for a moment but one look at Gary confirmed her decision. "Where's the controller?"

* * *

Mysterion blinked his eyes, trying to get through the haze that had settled on his mind. Pushing himself off the wet concrete street below him, the masked vigilante slowly took in his surroundings and had to hold back a gasp as he found himself in the middle of a city, rain pouring all about him to the point that the ground was covered in several inches of rain. On the sidewalks, lining the streets were virtual clones of none other than Agent Smith, staring at him blandly like he was some kind of exhibit at a zoo.

Wherever he was, this was not South Park.

"Greetings, Mr. Anderson," a certain computer program's voice spoke, redirecting Mysterion's gaze to straight ahead of him where a single Agent Smith was strolling his way towards him.

Mysterion narrowed his eyes, something about Agent Smith being off. The way he was walking, his body language, and other subtle signs didn't seem to match up with the computer program that he had met at that first parlay. There was an arrogance about him that didn't seem to fit his character…

"You're not Agent Smith," he stated, rising completely to his feet. "Who are you?"

"And what makes you think that I am not Agent Smith?" Agent Smith replied with a smooth quality that lacked a certain bluntness to it.

"Call it a hunch," Mysterion stated. "There's so much about you that doesn't match with the Agent Smith I know. They're little things but sometimes you don't need a neon sign to tell you what you need to know."

Then Agent Smith smirked. He _smirked_. If that wasn't out of character for someone like Agent Smith, Mysterion didn't know what was. However, that smirk was familiar. He had seen it before on someone else…

"I had hoped that you wouldn't have picked up on it so quickly…but it seems that I underestimated your deduction skills yet again McCormick." Agent Smith was engulfed in a haze of digital pixels and when the pixels were gone—

"Bain," Mysterion hissed. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"What's it look like? Diverting you," Bain said. With a snap of his fingers, the rain stopped, everything beginning to dry almost immediately. "That's better."

"You mean distracting," Mysterion said, narrowing his eyes at the other. "What is the meaning of this?"

"For the moment, I am in charge of Agent Smith's abilities and no, the Jack Bauer rule won't change that," Bain answered, that smirk still on his face, eyes gleaming with a sadistic glee. "I rather not have to sit about and play a DS for however long it would be and instead decided to do something more…comfortable. I much prefer facing you face to face than through a portable console screen."

"I don't understand what you're trying to say but tell me this. What does Damien seek to gain with starting the Apocalypse early?" Mysterion demanded.

"Now whoever told you that," Bain drawled out.

"Heaven's intelligence network is quite sophisticated," Mysterion stated.

"Is that so? I was told that this all began with a shortage of souls in Hell," Bain said.

Mysterion blinked. "What? What shortage of souls?"

"You mean you don't know? Satan would be relieved to hear that," Bain said, smirk widening. "Apparently, there were some missing souls that weren't going to Hell. Satan looked into it, found that these souls weren't going to Heaven either and tasked Damien to find out what was going on. Damien found where those souls went, to Black Market where Wolf Black was dealing in souls, tricking customers into thinking they were getting a good deal. He was going to trash the place up to try and change Wolf's mind when you interfered."

He hadn't heard any of this. Why hadn't that one angel with the weird yet forgettable name found out about it?

"That's why Hell needs to win this battle," Bain continued. "They can then turn their forces on Wolf and resolve this little issue. However, you self-righteous types up in Heaven are screwing that up. Can you really trust your intelligence network when it's unable to find the kind of dirt that would embarrass the devil himself? A prolonged battle will weaken both sides so it's best that one side give in early, hmm? So long as you remain out of the battle, your side will lose its resolve and back down."

"Why don't you let me go so I can tell them about this?" Mysterion demanded. "We can avoid this conflict right here and now."

"Because we still have unfinished business," Bain stated. "I've gotten the better of you two for two but all things come in threes. You can't tell me that you're not looking forward to getting the better of me at least once."

Mysterion narrowed his eyes. It was obvious that Bain wasn't going to let him go without a fight. The fact that he was using Agent Smith's powers was troubling. But he had to admit that the sociopath did have a point. Their last couple of confrontations had not gone in his favor and if Bain was here to pick a fight…

Then he would have to make it quick.

"If it's a fight you want, then that's what you get," Mysterion said, bracing himself for action.

"That's more like it," Bain grinned disturbingly. "Best to finish it all with a bang."

And then archenemies charged.

* * *

Damien would be lying if he said that he wasn't enjoying this. The violence, the destruction, the bloodshed, the warfare…it was so delicious to watch. But he was getting antsy. Why was everyone out there having all the fun while he was stuck back here watching it?

They had the numbers on their side as well as the weaponry to truly combat anything those angels threw at them. If anything, his participation in the proceedings would bolster his side. It wasn't as if he could truly die; he's show up in Hell in the morning if such a thing happened and then be back here before breakfast.

His heart was beating with adrenaline and he knew he couldn't stay back much longer.

"Father," he addressed his large, devilish patriarch. "I'm going in."

"What? Damien, you can't do that!" his father exclaimed. "You might get blood in your hair and do you know how hard it is to get that stuff out? You've such lush—"

"Not now, Father," Damien growled, subtly glaring at the devil.

"I have to agree with your father on this one, Damien," Demonius said. "You are in no way armed or armored for such an endeavor. If you go out there now, you'll have nothing but the clothes you're wearing and swords won't be stopped by that."

"I'm the fucking Antichrist," Damien scoffed. "As if swords would be allowed to scratch me."

"Oh dear, honey, you shouldn't be reading into your own press," Satan said.

"Not in front of everyone," Damien hissed with a whine.

"Charlie, speak some sense into him," Satan ordered.

"I don't see any problem," Charlie shrugged. Well, well, an unexpected ally.

"Charlie! How can you not see—where's our Anti-Keanu Reeves?" Damien blinked, noticing that Satan was looking in horror at the seat where a certain possessed Agent Smith should be sitting…but wasn't. It was a bit concerning.

"He went into the DS somehow," Charlie said. "Said he was going to distract Heaven's Keanu Reeves."

"You mean, he went into the Mainframe?" Satan said, aghast.

"You know, I have noticed there's this disorganization among Heaven's ranks," Demonius said.

"Then it must be working," Charlie said. Then, "Mainframe?"

"Yeah, Matrix was overused," Satan shrugged.

"Well, this will make it less likely that anyone will try to impale me," Damien said.

"Well, if it will make you feel better, I can send Christophe with him to watch his back," Charlie said, apparently hearing him but not showing any sign that she had.

"Zat's ze first zing I've 'eard today zat makes sense," Christophe chuckled, arms crossed and shovel strapped to his back.

"I'm not sure…" Satan said.

"I'll go too if you want," Charlie offered.

"No, no, I need you here to keep an eye on that dead boy toy of yours," Satan said. "The Frenchie can go with Damien…that is if you're dead set on it." The last part was said towards the Antichrist who was barely able to contain his glee.

"I am," he said, eyes almost glowing.

"Fine," the Prince of Darkness finally gave his permission. "But take your scarf with you. You might get cold out there."

"I'm not taking the Goddamn scarf," Damien snarled. The thing was stupid-looking anyway.

"Damn it, take the Goddamn scarf!" his father ordered and dear God, he had brought the thing with him! Right there in that large hand was the poorly knitted monstrosity with white cloud patterns and a Hello Kitty logo stitched on one end. It looked like something an angel would do on a bad day!

"No fucking way!" he cried as he practically dived off the chunk of Hell he had been perched on, fleeing into the battle.

"Damien! You get your ass back here and take your Goddamn scarf!" Satan roared after him, jerking the long piece of cloth with emphasis. "Damien! I am your father and you will listen to me! Damien? Damien!"

* * *

The battle was heating on throughout the streets of South Park but on one particular street, the demon hoard was breaking off from the angel front, backing off from their holy counterparts.

The angels themselves were puzzled by this behavior but nevertheless attempted to press their advantage by pushing forward and after the demons. If they could show that their efforts were bearing fruit, it could encourage angels on other fronts to fight harder.

However, their advance was brought up short when an odd mortal holding a shovel stepped out of the demonic hoard. They were puzzled by such a sight but then something else captivated their attention. Moving from behind the mortal was a somewhat flustered-looking Antichrist who shored up his composure the moment his red eyes landed on them.

Jesus Christ, it was the son of the traitorous Lucifer! And he was right there in front of them! If they could smite this unholy demonspawn, they could wrap up this fight in no time and declare it a victory for Heaven!

"Come on angels!" an angel cried out, raising a fiery sword out to rally the angelic troops. "The unholy one is before us! Show him the might of God and send him back to Hell where he came from!"

There was a raucous cry from the angels, cheering the sentiment. Everyone was behind this plan. It was a good plan and they were glad to be a part of it.

The Antichrist, though, did not seem the least bit intimidated. Composure regained, he smirked at the angels, stepping further away from the mortal and taking his place in the small gap between the opposing armies.

"If you wish to smite me then come at me," he challenged. "Give me everything you've got."

"No holding back!" the rallying angel declared, raising his fiery sword higher.

The Antichrist's smirk turned into a bloodthirsty grin and his hands were enveloped in blazing balls of fire. Without a second's hesitation, the Antichrist whipped a hand out and fired the orb of flames right into the ranks of the angels.

"Great balls of fire!" the rallying angel exclaimed before he was utterly incinerated by the attack, along with several angels around him.

Not waiting for another blast, an angel took to the sky with fiery sword in hand, dive bombing at the Antichrist in what was certainly a suicide attack. The attack, though, came to a stop when the angel's face became an unexpected friend with the face of a shovel that swung out and nailed him. The angel's body twisted then crashed into the ground, flipping over itself as it came to a sudden stop. In a daze, the angel stared straight up as the edge of the shovel plunged itself into the angel's neck.

"I had that one," Damien said, frowning at Christophe's interference.

"As if I'd let you 'ave all ze fun," Christophe replied smoothly. Without looking, he was swinging his shovel to bat down another angel coming at him from behind. Demons cheered as he pulled out a gun and capped the winged son of a bitch that tried to get him from his blindside. As if he would let a flunky of that cocksucker God one up him. "Zat makes two."

"Twelve," Damien said imperiously. "I'd like to see you beat that body count."

"Just warming up," Christophe retorted. "You're not afraid I'll outdo you, _oui_?"

"A delusional fantasy but I accept your challenge," Damien said, extending his arm out and incinerating an angel that had sought to sneak up on him.

"Zen let ze best man win," Christophe smirked.

* * *

"So where do you think we'll find this guy?" Stan wondered, hands clasped behind his head as he strolled through the hallways of Heaven.

"Beats me," Brittany shrugged from beside him. "Gary didn't really give us much to go on. How many angels up here have a hard name to remember that starts with an O?"

"Oh you of little mind," Cartman taunted. "He's obviously doing something that involves watching the big fight, which we're missing by the way. Hopefully he's watching it on a plasma screen and has popcorn, or at least Cheezy Poofs, and we can join him."

"You're taking way too much pleasure out of this," Stan stated. "People are dying down below. How can you be so…so…"

"Schadenfreude?" Brittany suggested.

"I don't even know what that means but yeah, that," Stan nodded.

"It means taking pleasure out of someone else's misery or downfall," Brittany said helpfully.

"Then that's the motto of my life," Cartman chortled. "But seriouslah, we need to get in on what's going on. It's so fucking boring up here."

"So wandering around aimlessly is so much better?" Stan stated more than asked.

"Oh what, and ask for directions? Be a man! Men don't need directions," Cartman scoffed.

"Excuse me for a moment," Brittany said, separating from the two males and approaching a nearby angel. "Hey, um, do you know where we can find this angel who's name begins with an O and has a hard name to remember?"

"Why would a mortal want to know?" the angel asked, eyeing her warily.

"We're on business from the Second Coming," Brittany said.

"Oh, well if you go down this hallway and take a left…" The reporter nodded her head as the angel rattled off a series of directions, listening intently. "…and then you make another left around the Fountain of Seminal…Stuff, head up the stairs and you'll find Whatshisname's Glory Hole. He should be there."

"Thank you so much," Brittany thanked and returned to the other two males. "See? Was that so hard?"

"See Stan? This is why we have a woman here. To do the things us men aren't allowed do but can take the credit for," Cartman replied, not deigning to address Brittany with his response.

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better," Brittany muttered.

"Does it? I'm so glad," Cartman chuckled. "Lead the way, ho. We got a fight to catch."

"Just ignore him,' Stan muttered to her. "It all goes downhill from here."

Brittany seemed to take Stan's advice and took the lead, pointedly ignoring Cartman as she followed the angel's directions. She had thought when the angel had given her said directions that they were a bit confusing but Heaven, as it turned out, was a very confusing place. It was as if it was built like a capitol building, or at the very least a government headquarters. It was like they wanted you to get lost or had little to no consideration for the little people.

That or they were constantly expanding and renovating. Like that one house in California.

Eventually, they came across the Fountain of Seminal…Stuff…why did it look like a phallus spewing…yeah…not going there. Well, they continued on to the stairs that were nearby and now that they were getting a look at the stairs…Brittany shifted uncomfortably as she was reminded of the outer areas of a woman's genitalia…

Moving on, they were now at the top of the stairs and the first door to their left had the words "Glory Hole" written above it. Carved into the very doorway, in fact. This must be the place.

"Finally!" Cartman exclaimed. "Time to get us some action. Stan, you brought something to eat with you, right?"

"Fuck off Cartman," Stan muttered as he pushed opened the surprisingly unlocked door.

"Everything's going as planned. Hell may be winning but Heaven's starting to rally. I'd give it another hour before it's time to move in." Standing on a platform that hovered over a large empty space in which the image of South Park in the midst of war was pictured, an angel with an expansive wingspan stood speaking on a…phone? "From what I can see, the Antichrist has joined the battle and it's only a matter of time until the Second Coming enters to face him. I highly doubt either will be able to finish each other off."

"Who's he talking to?" Stan whispered to his two companions, one of which was unwanted.

"Why does he have a phone?" Brittany wondered.

"Oh tits! Would you look at all this! It's fucking awesome!" Cartman explained staring down at the image below them.

The angel spun around, staring at them in shock. Cartman narrowed his eyes at the angel.

"Hey…haven't I seen you someplace?" the plumber asked.

"Uh…around?" the angel said. Then into the phone, "No, no, I'm not talking to you."

"I know! You're that guy I saw in Black Market!" Cartman snapped his fingers as he remembered.

The angel stared. "I'll call you back," he said into the phone and hung up.

"Yeah, you're telling the angels up here something else…something about what's not actually happening…I think?" Cartman's brow was furrowed in thought. "Oh wait! I remember! You're lying to everybody, that's right! Playing…Heaven and…Hell…against one another. And getting the…Book of Nemesis…" Cartman's eyes were widening with realization with each word he said. "Oh crap, you're a double agent!"

"And you had to wait until now to tell us this!" Stan exclaimed.

"Too bad for you." The mortals looked back at the traitorous angel who unsheathed a fiery sword. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to live now that you know. Your sins will pull you all down to Hell where the knowledge that you've learned won't help anybody."

"Jesus Christ, run for it!" Stan cried out, double timing it out of the room with Brittany and Cartman on his heels.

"Damn it!" the angel swore as he made chase. Pausing outside of the Glory Hole, he caught sight of a nearby angel staring after the fleeing mortals and an idea occurred to him. "The mortals are traitors!" he yelled. "Kill them before they can return to their Dark Master!"

"Yes sir O'Reilly!" the angel saluted, pulling out a fiery sword and giving chase after the mortals.

"Ongkanon," the angel growled after his fellow angel.

* * *

In a city that was not as far away as you would think and not as wet as it should have been, Mysterion found that he was at a surprising disadvantage.

He did not know when Bain found the time to learn any kind of martial art but it was sure paying off now. Punches were parried, slaps batted away, and then the blows were returned full force with extra pow to them. He had to stumble back with each one that landed against his body.

A swing of a fist was either ducked or leaned away from, and after one vicious shot in the side of his face, the vigilante was now copying the dodges as best as he could. Right now a punch just whistled by his nose there, the masked hero's counterpunch dodged and was followed up by a reciprocating attack that he ducked under. His next punch was jarred as it was blocked by a forearm but instead of another punch coming, a booted foot nailed him in the gut, sending him flying back and into the street. Concrete and asphalt broke apart and spiked upwards as his body tore into it.

"Pick it up, McCormick," Bain said strolling his way towards him, no sign of a sweat anywhere on his face. "You're fighting the might of Agent Smith. It's going to take more than grade school tactics this time."

Bain was taunting him, he knew that much. But what was up with this "might of Agent Smith" stuff? What was he saying? He knew that Bain and mentioned being in control of Agent Smith but did it really mean that he had all of Agent Smith's skills and powers? And why didn't he have any broken bones as he picked himself out of the destroyed street?

"You're going to have to drop the cryptic shit Bain. Not in the mood," Mysterion growled.

"Shall I spell it out for you? Everything Agent Smith knows is right up here." Bain tapped the side of his head with emphasis. "I know how to manipulate this world to my whims but sadly, you don't."

"This place isn't real?" Mysterion questioned.

"Of course not!" Bain exclaimed, throwing his arms out. "We're in a game system that consists of zeros and ones! A virtual world where anything is possible."

"And you're telling me this why?" Mysterion growled.

Then Bain was mere inches in front of him. "Because I want to savor this," the sociopath said simply, slamming the palm of his hand into Mysterion's chest and forcing him back into the crumbling trough of asphalt.

Mysterion didn't have time to sit back as a hand grab the front of his outfit and then he was zooming straight up into the air as if thrown. Air buffeted around him and with cracked opened eyes, Mysterion looked below him to see Bain flying straight after him. His arms crossed over his head to intercept the punch that Bain had aimed at his face and force jarred the bones in his arms like nothing else he had ever felt.

Another fist was coming at him and by instinct, Mysterion barely managed to block it though the unnatural strength that Bain somehow possessed now carried the balled-up hand further until it barely pressed against his cheek. Shoving it away, Mysterion took another shot at Bain, predictably getting blocked.

A countering blow got him in the shoulder and Mysterion hissed at the numbness he felt spreading throughout his arm. Hands grabbed him and air was buffeting him again, coming to a quick stop as his body smashed into and through a wall and then another one before skidding to a stop.

Spots were flickering in his vision and the vigilante rolled himself onto his stomach, coughing. Damn it, he didn't know how much more his body could take. When the hell did Bain get so strong? At this rate, he was going to kill him!

Lifting his head up, his eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he saw Bain literally floating in the air. What was up with all the physics-defying feats?

Wait, this place wasn't real. Bain had said so himself. He also said he could manipulate it so…was it a two-way street?

There was no more time to think about it, Bain was shooting straight at him, flying through the holes Mysterion had made on his way in here. Mysterion rolled out of the way as Bain's fist impacted the floor, creating a crater of cracks that formed spider web patterns.

Getting onto his feet as quick as he could, Mysterion thought with all he had that his fist was made of steel, weighed two tons, and was as fast as a rocket as he flung it at the sociopath who was just starting to stand. His fist connected with Bain's chest, breaking through the psycho's guard.

To Mysterion's amazement, Bain was sent flying straight into a wall and while he didn't break through it, he left another spider web of cracks into the surface.

Whoa.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Bain regained his balance but did not glare at the vigilante. Instead, he was grinning insanely. "That's better. Now maybe this will be more interesting."

Shaking off the fatigue he was feeling, Mysterion readied himself for another exchange.

* * *

Gary was not in the least bit bothered by the increasing amounts of swears coming from Kyra. He had heard worse before, believe it not.

…

Okay, that one required a censor bleep.

Was it a bad thing that he wasn't scandalized by it like the other angels were?

"My God, such profanity! My ears are bleeding!" Uriel moaned, clutching his ears.

"I don't think I've ever heard Satan swear like that," Michael moaned before noticing Gary and his unaffected state. "Aren't you listening to all this?"

"When you're around it enough, you get used to it," Gary said cheerfully, tapping his fingers against the head of the golf club he held.

"I swear, you're like some kind of saint," Michael said.

"I wouldn't say that," Gary said humbly, continuing to unconsciously fiddle with the golf club. "However…she doesn't swear this much unless something's giving her trouble."

"So could we get her to stop using the Lord's name in vain if we ask her what's going on?" Gabriel asked.

"Wouldn't hurt," Gary shrugged as he turned to Kyra. "Hey Kyra? Is something wrong?"

"God fucking god moder!" Kyra roared at the screen.

"Ah, that's explains it," Gary nodded.

"Excuse me but, for those of us who don't know, what is a god moder?" Michael asked.

"Someone who uses cheat codes to become unstoppable, I think," Gary explained. "Am I right about that?" he asked the furious gamer.

Her response was profanity laden but was definitely an affirmative.

"Right. Anyway, Kyra hates god moders. She relies only on her skills," Gary continued, stilling his fidgeting, the golf club he held no longer being toyed with. "She tries to make it a mission to crush them whenever she encounters one. It's never pretty."

"Okay…someone's god moding on the field of battle. Right, we'll figure out who it is and murder the son of a bitch in cold blood," Michael said.

Gary frowned. "Isn't murder a commandment?"

"It's war so it's legal," Michael said. "What? Did you really think God would condemn the Hebrews for what they did at Jericho after being given that Commandment? No, it's only murder when it's premeditated. God allows killing here and there."

"But you called it murder." Gary's frown deepened.

"Excuse me, what I meant to say was kill. Kill the son of a bitch," Michael corrected himself. "So, Kyra, can you tell us where this god moder is?"

Another profanity laden response came but they were given the necessary information.

"Fire? A demon using fire? Is that all?" Michael asked. "Forgive me for being rude but this entire place is covered in fire! You're going to have to be more specific than that."

There was a loud clap from the battlefield, followed by a wave of heat that rolled over everything. Turning slowly, everyone with the exception of Kyra faced the war torn town where a noticeable gap between the armies could be observed.

"Um, that gap wouldn't happen to be where this god moder is, right?" Michael asked.

"Exactly," Kyra snarled.

"Gabriel! See if you can spot something out of the ordinary over there," Michael ordered.

Gabriel nodded but instead of risking his life and flying out onto the field of battle, the archangel took out a pair of binoculars and began his search. It didn't take him long to spot out that "out of the ordinary" thing.

"We might have a problem Michael. The Antichrist has taken to the field," Gabriel reported. "There's also that mortal with the shovel with him, you know the one from that first parlay? Wow, they make a good team."

"Should've known," Michael growled, clenching his fists.

"Well, if Damien has decided to show up, I guess I'm up then," Gary said, rolling his shoulders.

"You're going out there!" Uriel exclaimed.

"What do we have that can take Damien out?" Gary asked.

"Weapons of mass destruction," Michael said helpfully.

"Out of the question. I'll try to take him out of the equation. That way Kyra can focus on the rest of Hell's forces," Gary said, pointing the golf club at Michael. "I won't take no for an answer," he added when it looked like Michael was about to argue.

"Fine," Michael grumbled. "Have it your way, but Gabriel will take you out there. No sense having you get taken out by a catapult or anything else Hell might throw at us."

"Hang in there Kyra," Gary told the only female there. "I'll get Damien out of your hair."

Another string of profanity was his answer but the gist of it was "good luck."

He'd take it.

"Let's go Gabriel," he ordered, allowing the archangel to pick him up and fly him towards his destiny, golf club in hand.

* * *

"Is it me or is Heaven becoming more organized?" Satan asked, staring hard at the battle.

"They are holding their own, even without their Keanu Reeves," Demonius said.

"I knew we should have gotten Charlie's boytoy out of Agent Smith," Satan moaned. "But did I listen to my instincts? Noooo."

Feeling the need to stick up for Bain, Charlie put her two cents into the conversation. "What if they got a replacement? They had plenty of time to find one after last time."

"A replacement Keanu Reeves? Unlikely. There can only be one," Demonius said. "The amount of training, discipline, and lack of social life is immense. Where could they find a replacement in such a short amount of time?"

"You'd be surprised. There're plenty of those kinds of losers around here. They wouldn't even have to tell the entire truth. Just say this is some kind of new game," Charlie said. Glancing at the DS that continued to remain motionless, as well as shock anyone who tried to touch it, she bit her lip in thought. "We could send someone to investigate, maybe mess it all up," she suggested.

"Sends someone to the enemy command post? We can't do that! It's never been done before," Demonius said.

That might explain why armed conflicts between Heaven and Hell lasted so long.

"Well, there's always a first time for everything," Charlie said. She paused as a fiery, molten rock catapulted overhead and crashed into the town's movie theater. That was going to be expensive to repair. "We're in a stalemate right now, Heaven's rallying, and we need to tip things in our favor. Long story short, I'm going in."

"But Charlie, what about…" Demonius gestured helplessly to the golden Nintendo DS.

"Right. Keep an eye on that for me, would you," Charlie said, about to take her leave.

"Wait! You're going out there all by yourself?" Satan exclaimed, aghast.

"Well, yeah, that's the idea," Charlie said.

Instead of objection, Satan gestured at a couple of his minions. "Take this."

Charlie's brow furrowed as she was given what looked like a double barrel shotgun. A bit antiquated, don't you think?

"That there is the finest of Hell's technology," Satan said proudly. "A fully rechargeable, asskicking shotgun. You don't even have to break it open to take out the shells."

"Rechargeable? How?" Charlie asked, more curious now than before.

"It's simple, you take the barrel in one hand and then rub it, up and down motions preferably," Satan said. "Kind of like this," he added and demonstrated.

"You mean you want me to jerk off a shotgun," Charlie deadpanned.

"Hey, you can do this about four times before you have to let it rest for a day," Satan said defensively.

What Charlie had wanted to say was _what is wrong with you?_ But she figured that now wasn't a good time. So she was going to try and weasel her way out of this one. "I gotta move fast and carrying this thing is going hinder that."

"Oh, it comes with a strap," Satan said.

God damn it. He just lived to make her life harder, didn't he?

* * *

Fingers pressed together, Bain stabbed his hands out like knives at the dressed-up McCormick, "Mysterion" doing his best to dodge them. In life, contrary to what most people saw, Bain had never been the most physically active person. He had known how to hit and where to do it, thus making any physical confrontation relatively short. Such confrontations only grew shorter when he had added Winslow into his arsenal.

But then along came a girl named Charlotte White who easily dominated him, who weapons weren't of much use against, and his own Winslow held against his own neck during one such fight. He had to grow his stamina and prowess then if had hoped to keep up with her.

Incidentally, a side effect was that whenever he had an encountered with his masked nemesis, he could take some of what the vigilante threw at him. Now he had the might of Agent Smith backing him and once again he was the dominate figure in combat. It was his opponent who was on the ropes and he enjoyed it. He enjoyed it a lot.

Enough with the martial arts, though. While it was neat to be able to do what those kinds of fighters were capable of, Bain was more comfortable with his own style which happened to include Winslow.

Sleight-of-hand was his hobby and out from his sleeve was the virtual avatar of that knife which went slashing at "Mysterion" and cut a long line into his torso. Bain reveled in the hiss he heard, and reversing his knife he sliced Winslow back to try for another. He missed that time but the vigilante tried to turn the tables on him with a few high kicks that McCormick's body was not prepared to do.

Looked like he pulled something there the way that "Mysterion" was stumbling back without any real provocation. Bain had merely pulled back and dodged the two kicks sent at him, allowing Agent Smith's reflexes to take over for evasion purposes.

Tossing Winslow into his left hand, Bain pulled back his right and punched it forth, "Mysterion" acting quickly to parry it. Despite whatever unseen injury "Mysterion" gave to himself, he attempted another kick that landed against Bain's chest but really had little power to it.

He slapped the foot away contemptuously but "Mysterion" surprised him by dropping into a crouch, all the while spinning his body to try and use his slapped away leg to try and knock him off his feet. Again, allowing Agent Smith's reflexes to take over, Bain leapt over the leg but just as his feet were returning to the floor, "Mysterion" was throwing himself at him, pushing him backwards with his shoulder while throwing a punch with his right arm.

Bain caught the arm and tried to pull it back and force "Mysterion" off his balance. It seemed to work for a second but "Mysterion" managed to surprise him but using his left hand to land a punch against his shoulder. The surprise caused him to release the vigilante who, against all odds, was back on his feet and delivering another crushing punch to his face.

It seemed like he was figuring out how this world worked and was beginning to manipulate it as well. A part of Bain was glad about this because he could really enjoy the fight now but another part was cursing at it. The more time "Mysterion" was here, the better he got and the less control Bain had.

Bain was leaning closer to that second part. Maybe that's why he took more advantage of Agent Smith's speed, slicing at "Mysterion" with Winslow, leaving more cuts on his body and tearing into the crimefighter's cape and hood. Hell, he managed to tear that mask he wore around his eyes. Twirling around on one foot, Bain gave a coup-de-grace in the form of a roundhouse kick that sent "Mysterion" through a wall again.

Unlike himself, "Mysterion" didn't have the flying thing mastered and so he fell down. Then at the right moment, a moving commuter train passed under "Mysterion" and it was on this form of transportation that he landed.

Bain was already after it, launching himself out of the building and right after the train. Thanks to Agent Smith, Bain had the concept of flying in this digital world down and like a speed bullet he was heading straight for "Mysterion." His rival for the domination of the night was somewhat dazed from his unexpected landing and was quite open for Bain's blow to hit him through the train's roof and into the train itself.

Placing Winslow's handle into his mouth, Bain ripped the hole "Mysterion" had made wider with his bare hands, metal giving way to his will. A simple jump into the moving battle ground had him in a more confined space but dead ahead was Mysterion getting his second wind.

Taking Winslow out of his mouth, he asked, "What's with the look? Don't tell me you aren't having any fun."

"Fun? You think this is fun?" Aww, he wasn't using that ridiculous Mysterion voice of his. "You're letting thousands of people out there suffer and die and for what? Your sick amusement?"

"I'm a damned soul," Bain retorted. "I might as well have Hell owe me while I can. It might come in handy later."

"Thinking of yourself? Why am I not surprised," McCormick growled.

"Of course," Bain said, voice rising slightly. Pausing, he recalled that this happened to be a line from a certain movie villain that he had been forced to impersonate and he grimaced.

McCormick took advantage of his distraction to try and ram him but Bain stopped him, moving to a side and catching the damaged vigilante by his shoulders. He brought a knee up into McCormick's chin and threw him back towards the front of the train.

"Almost had me there," Bain congratulated but then added darkly, "but almost is not enough."

McCormick rubbed at his chin, by now half of his eye mask was completely gone and part of his hood torn off. From the corner of his eye, Bain could see some purple fabric stuck on some metal. The blond glared but said nothing, watching for his next move like a hawk.

"You're not going to win," Bain taunted. "You couldn't stop me from killing Rod Woods. You couldn't stop me destroying prom. You won't stop me from preventing your aiding of Heaven."

"Put up or shut up," McCormick snapped, spitting a wad of blood onto the train floor.

Have it your way.

Bain feinted with Winslow, putting McCormick on the defensive. Another feint had McCormick back up again, Bain watching closely for an opening. At least his defense was improving but the sociopath couldn't allow any more improvement. He kicked at McCormick who ducked under and dodged his attacks.

"This is familiar," Bain taunted, swinging Winslow again. "How about something new?"

On his return slash, McCormick caught the hand holding Winslow. Using the momentum still in Bain's arm, McCormick stabbed Winslow into one of the metal seats at an odd angle. With a cry of, "How 'bout this!" McCormick slammed a foot onto Winslow with enough force to break the blade into two pieces, the majority of the knife clattering away and onto the floor.

Bain yanked his arm back and gaze with horror at the broken blade. Winslow…not Winslow! For years the knife had been his only friend, the only thing that he taken great lengths to take care of. It was like a brother to him…

Bain's face contorted with rage, his vision practically becoming red. He searched for Winslow's defiler and found the bastard racing to the front of the train. Bain followed after him, making as much noise as a bull in a china shop and catching up with McCormick at the train's controls. Grabbing McCormick by the end of his torn hood, Bain pulled him back and practically threw him down the train's length, McCormick's body leaving a dent in the metal floor where he had landed.

There were no more words from Bain, no more sophisticated banter as he stalked his way after McCormick. This was a side of himself that only his bitch of a sister had seen. It was the monster unveiled and now it was McCormick's time.

McCormick had barely gotten back up onto his knees when Bain grabbed him once more and threw him against the train wall, the train windows shattering. McCormick retaliated by thrusting both of his feet into Bain's chest and hitting back into a pole, denting it. Bain shook it off and was grabbing McCormick by his throat, throttling him with one hand while continuously punching him in the face with the other.

Catching him by the wrist, McCormick kicked him in the gut, used his other arm against the inside of his elbow and loosened his grip on the blond's neck, wrapping his legs around Bain's torso. Pushing himself forward, McCormick forced them onto the train's floor and began to repay the earlier abuse Bain had bestowed on him.

* * *

There had always been this separation between the angels and the mortals that the Second Coming had brought up here. A divide, something that kept the angels from really associating with the mortals, the mortals not helping by keeping to themselves.

With that said, it was quite easy to believe how half of Heaven was arming up and chasing after the trio of mortals that was fleeing for their lives.

"Quick! Quick! There they go! Don't let them get away!" Stan could hear the voice of that angel Gary had sent them to find, rallying up any angel within hearing range to go after them. This was nuts! They weren't the traitors; that angel was! He had screamed out his innocence and properly accused the angel of his misdeeds.

He shouldn't have been surprised but he was not believed. That was why he, Cartman, and Brittany now had twenty angels all armed with fiery swords chasing after them.

Skidding around a corner, he barely missed getting hit by an assortment of knives, arrows, and a butcher's knife. Oh yeah, the angels were also throwing very sharp objects at them. How had he forgotten to mention that? Man, this was almost like high school again.

"Run! Run for your lives!" Cartman bellowed, panting and sweating and basically looking like he was going to collapse any moment. Pfft, didn't the guy take care of himself. Stan had made it a point to at least get a workout two to three times a week. You know, to stay fit and healthy, blah, blah, blah, oh and to sex up the ladies when he was feeling horny.

"Pick it up!" Stan hollered at Cartman, breathing deeply but not sweating just yet.

"Easy for you to say! You were—huff—you were—gasp—the quarterback…in high school!" Cartman panted.

"You were on the team too!" Stan yelled back.

"Shut up and dodge!" Brittany screamed as she let herself drop to the floor just as they were headed up by a group of angels dead ahead. They were shooting arrows at them just as their pursuers behind them were throwing their sharp and pointy weapons at them. Ducking seemed like a good idea so that's what Stan did. Cartman more or less collapsed right before he could become a pincushion.

As you can imagine, the angels ended up wounded one another.

"Oh God my eye!"

"You got my wing you asshole!"

"That's my heart!" Thump.

"Good thing we don't have dicks or this would have seriously hurt."

Peeking up, Stan saw that an angel indeed have a knife in his crouch but he wasn't hunched over like a normal dude would be. Fucking cheap!

"Go! Go!" Stan hissed, getting back up onto his feet and charging through the injured crowd ahead of him. He knocked over a couple angels, clearing a path for Brittany and Cartman to follow, and not feeling the least bit blasphemous for doing so.

"What are you doing? They're getting away!" the angel who started this whole mess exclaimed.

Stan so much wanted to punch that asshole's lights out.

"But Yoko Ono, they're so slippery!" an angel complained.

"That…doesn't even start with an O!" the traitorous angel whose name began with an O snarled.

"This way!" Stan called to Brittany and Cartman, taking the first turn he could find.

"Look! They're going that way!" an angel shouted.

Maybe he shouldn't have spoken so loud.

"I—huff—knew it—pant…" Cartman complained. "I shouldn't—gasp—have gotten involved—puff—with this shit! This—huff—is all—heeee—your fault Stan!"

"Who cares whose fault it is!" Brittany cried out as an arrow missed her by mere inches. "I just wanted to get closer to Kenny!"

"What—gasp—are—gasp—you—gasp—a whore?" Cartman was gasping, sounding as if he was heaving his lungs out with each word he said.

"Screw you, Mr. I can't run ten feet!" Brittany snapped back.

"Now's not the time!" Stan reprimanded. "Stop arguing and keep running! I think they're gaining on us!"

"Is that a dead end?" Brittany asked, eyes widening in horror.

Taking in what was straight ahead, Stan realized that somehow, in all their running around, they had managed to put themselves in a hallway in which there was only one door in the whole thing. Well it was more like a double door but you get the idea. If the angels found out that they themselves had boxed their selves in, it was over. Game over even. And Stan didn't know where he stood with Kyra! They were making so much progress and he was so sure that she was going to take him back!

"Let's….find someplace…to hide," Cartman managed to get out, slowing down until he was hunched over, hands on his knees. Man, he did not sound good. "Gonna…puke…"

"If you do that, be quiet about it," Stan hissed.

"Oh yeah. Like a person can…vomit…without making any—eeyow!" Cartman's eyes widened as he fell forward. Stan was slightly surprised that there wasn't an earthquake or something. "I'm hit!" Cartman cried out. "They got me! They got me in my ass!"

Sure enough, poking straight out of Cartman's ass was an arrow. Again, Stan was slightly surprised the thing hadn't bounced off Cartman's fat. Back the way they came, there was a single angel, bow knocked with another arrow and aimed directly at them.

"Got you in my sights. Make a move and you're going down like your buddy," the angel warned. "Hey guys! I found them!" he shouted, hoping to bring in reinforcements.

Oh God, what were they going to do? What could they do? They were trapped, by their own making no less, and Cartman was even more useless than before! This was not looking good. Not at all.

"Show them your boobs," Cartman hissed suddenly.

Stan looked down at his chest. "But I don't have any boobs."

"Not you dipshit! I mean her!" Cartman nearly snarled.

Staring at Cartman incredulously, Brittany hissed back, "I'm not showing them my boobs!" Defensively, she crossed her arms over said boobs.

"You have to trust me on this one!" Cartman argued.

"Nuh uh, no way," Brittany retorted.

"Listen to me! Haven't you been paying attention? Have you seen any girl angels around here? That's what I thought. There are none. We're surrounded by a bunch of dickless virgins who wouldn't know what to do if a woman slapped them in the face!" Cartman continued to argue. "It's our only shot!"

"Keep it down down there!" the angel yelled at them.

"Hurry!" Cartman hissed. "Before it's too late!"

Brittany stared at Cartman then up to the angel then back to Cartman then to the angel again. "I can't believe I'm even considering…" she muttered to herself.

The sound of an army's worth of angels was really making Stan nervous here. "What do we have to lose?" Stan argued in favor of Cartman. "Besides your dignity and integrity."

"Easy for one without both to say," Brittany grumbled. Without further ado, Brittany gripped at her shirt and then ripped it open and exposed herself.

The angel who had been all serious and dead set on capturing them loosened the slack he was placing on the bow, the arrow shooting at them but missing them by a mile as the angel's eyes glazed over. "So…pretty…" the angel nearly moaned. Was that drool leaking out the corner of his mouth?

"Come on!" Cartman growled as he dragged himself further down the hallway. Bending down, Stan did his best to drag Cartman towards their only salvation, the only door in this hallway, Brittany bringing up the rear while continuing to mesmerize their pursuer. Those footsteps were so much closer; they were practically on top of them!

Luckily, they reached the double door set, Stan practically tearing one of them off their hinges to get it open and continued to drag Cartman through the doorway. Brittany was the last through and soon they sealed their only exit.

* * *

Ongkanon was the first to reach his fellow angel and wasting no time for pleasantries, demanded to know where the mortals were.

Huh, what was that look on the guy's face? Whatever, when everything was said and done, there were going to be some _changes_ made but first, to business.

"Where are they?" he demanded again, shaking the angel's shoulder while others reached their position.

"Who? Oh, the mortals. They went down there," the angel answered, gesturing to the double doors. "They…locked themselves in. Yeah, that's what they did. Yeah. Right."

Ongkanon was a bit curious about the clarity of the angel's speech but put it out of his mind. Those mortals were cornered and there would be no escape for them.

"We got them. Break down those doors and drag them out if you have to," he said grimly.

* * *

They were close. Gary could feel the heat from the flames already. He could also see the black form of Damien shooting a stream of fire from his hands and incinerating any poor angel in his path.

Movement from behind Damien caught his attention and the Second Coming noticed the much larger form of Christophe DeLorne slaying angels left and right with a fighting style that combined both the use of a shovel and a gun. With each bang, another angel would fall. With each swing of the shovel, another angel would be knocked off their feet and left helpless for a killing blow.

All around the two, forming two mirror semicircles were crowds of demons and angels. The demons were cheering the onslaught on while the angels continued to suffer casualties, one after the other rushing in to try and smite down the two fighting combatants only to be slayed in turn.

It made Gary's stomach churn with nausea at the sight but he knew that he was here to stop this massacre.

"Drop me," he ordered Gabriel, tightening his grip on the golf club he still held.

"Are you sure?" Gabriel asked.

"There's no time. Plus it's better if I make an entrance," Gary said, not taking his eyes off Damien.

"To make them pause from killing my kinsmen," Gabriel said, picking up on Gary's train of thought. "Very well."

And then gravity was taking hold of Gary's body. It wasn't a short fall as Gabriel had flown closer to the ground, waiting until they were over the small circular opening between the two armies. Still, Gary felt the shock of the sudden end of his short free fall climb through his legs and he hoped that it wouldn't come back to haunt him.

His sudden arrival achieved its purpose, though, as both Damien and Christophe paused in their killing spree to observe this new development.

"So you finally show up," Damien said.

"I can't allow this to go any further Damien," Gary stated.

"You came to die with your army, hmm?" Damien taunted.

"No, I came to stop you," Gary said.

"I don't know about that," Damien said whimsically, flexing his fingers and showing off just how sharp his nails were. "But you should be more challenging than these guys."

"We'll see," Gary said, holding the golf club in front of himself, readying himself.

Damien's eyes widened, eyes glowing with an eerie red. Beneath his feet, the concrete fractured, causing Gary to lose his footing and almost throwing him off his balance. Taking advantage of the Second Coming's disrupted guard, Damien leapt at the blond Mormon, determined to win Round 2.

* * *

Due to his impatience, Michael had ordered up one of the tech angels to try and fix their golden PSP, maybe get their Keanu Reeves out of it while they were at it. It had taken some trial and error as the golden PSP wouldn't let anyone touch it. Highly sophisticated tools of which Michael knew not their names but guessed they were really cool-sounding had been used to hook a wire into the one of the device's ports.

Currently some high-tech gadgetry was place all around the angel's command post so it was a bit crowded for the archangel's tastes but it was necessary. While Kyra was doing a good job at holding her own, Michael knew that if they were going to win this, they needed Kenny/Mysterion back.

No offense but everybody knew that male gamers were so much better than female gamers. There was science and stuff to back up that claim. He didn't know where that science and stuff was but he was sure it was out there. Somewhere.

Because if it wasn't, it would make him look like a sexist asshole and Michael knew he was not a sexist asshole.

The archangel would have paced about if there were enough room to do so. Nothing seemed to be going the way he had wanted it which wasn't supposed to happen. He was a good guy! Nothing goes wrong for the good guys! They're supposed to kick evil's ass and save the day and whatever else happens that's good.

In his irritation, he demanded, "Have you figured out what's going on?" The tech angel didn't even look back up at him which irritated Michael further.

"There's some kind of firewall. Don't know what made it but it's resisting everything attempt I've made to get through or around it. It's also been infecting whatever I use with computer viruses. Whatever it is, this thing is deep, probably in the hardware even."

"Whatever's going on, it's stopping him from being helpful," Uriel attempted to translate. Idiot. Michael understood it. Just because you know how to set up an Xbox 360 did not mean you were a techno geek. At least the other archangel had been helpful setting all this stuff up.

"So what do you plan to do? We're running out of time over here," Michael said.

"I think I'm going to have to reboot the whole thing but just to be sure, I'm going to have to erase all the data on it," the tech angel said.

"All the data?" Michael asked.

"Including the high score rankings?" Uriel asked.

"Uh huh," the tech angel grunted.

"What about Keanu Reeves? I mean Kenny. I mean Mysterion. Whoever he is. He's still in there!" Michael exclaimed.

"It's going to take time but if enough of the corrupted data is erased, I might be able to give him some kind of way out," the tech angel said. "So long as he gets out before it's one hundred percent erased, he should be fine."

"But what if he doesn't get out?" Uriel asked.

"Then he gets erased," the tech angel shrugged. "And not in the Arnold Schwarzenegger way either."

Oh what were they going to do? They needed the PSP to guide the army but the only way to get it working again was to delete all the data on it. However, Kenny/Mysterion/Keanu Reeves was in there and if he couldn't get out, he would be erased. Probably killed. And once you were killed, there was no way you could come back unless you had some kind of resurrection powers.

And he was sure Kenny or whoever he truly was didn't have the power to resurrect.

"You can make a way for him to get out, right? You're sure about that?" he asked.

"Yep," the tech angel answered.

"Do it," Michael ordered. Not deigning to watch what would amount to a bunch of tapping and typing, he turned away so that he could again observe the battlefield. So much destruction and chaos out there; he couldn't tell who was winning. But that was what war was all about. You didn't know who won until it was over! Like boxing but with more fatal injuries.

He winced as an explosion leveled a school but he was sure nobody was using it.

"Got it," the tech angel announced, emphasizing his words with one last sharp tap. "The deletion process is beginning. 1%. 2%."

"We get it already," Michael grumbled. "Good job. Did you get that way out for Kenny done yet?"

"That was a bit tricky," the tech angel admitted. "It won't show up until the process is halfway done."

"Can you make it happen sooner?" Michael demanded.

"Well I could try—" the tech angel began but a loud boom cut him off, his body skidding against the ground and his guts spewing all over the place.

"What the?!" Michael spun around, pulling out his fiery sword in panic and spotting a mortal woman with a shotgun aimed at them. You could hear a clock ticking in Michael's head as he stared at the woman until he recognized her. "You! Charlotte White! What the hell are you doing attacking our command post! That's never been done before!"

"Guess what, I'm changing the rules," Charlotte White retorted, aiming her shotgun at the archangel.

"Like hell!" Michael yelled as he clapped his wings together, creating a strong gale of wind to knock the minion of Hell away. Glancing at the dead tech angel, Michael swore. "Uriel, keep an eye on all this. I'll take care of this team-killing fucktard."

It had been a while since he had actually participated in anything that you could call fighting but Michael was absolutely sure that he was going to win, even as he hounded after Charlotte.

He was a good guy after all.


	23. Only a Miracle Can Save Us

Author's Note: Second to last chapter folks. We are almost done with this thing. There's a lot in here, lot of action, lot of dialogue, just a lot. Longest chapter in the story. So I'll let you get to that. But first, another reminder about the poll. It ends the moment I post the next and last chapter so get your votes in. I'll inform you of the results then. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, violence, death, Chuck Norris

Only a Miracle Can Save Us

"Well? Found out anything?" Wendy asked, glancing around at her co-conspirators.

"Nothing," Bebe sighed. "I even tried to put the moves on some of those demons. Right now I have to be screwing a few of them after hours, whatever that means in a place like this, and have you seen the size of their—"

"I think that's enough," Wendy said hastily.

"—feet? Okay. Well, what about everyone else? Alice? I know I saw you cozying to a couple of them," Bebe said.

"I was asking on how to get to the bathroom in the Denver Airport," Alice sighed. "I almost got one to tell me something but then he figured out my ploy and now I too have to go to his place after hours."

"No dice," Craig said. Then after a second, "I also have to see a demon after hours. Of all the demons in Hell, I had to talk with the gay one."

"Sucks to be you, I found a succubus," Clyde said, looking much thinner and gaunt than earlier. "Gosh, I'm so sleepy. Is anyone else sleepy?"

"What about you Anna? Have you found anything?" Wendy turned to the last of their group.

"What? Sorry can you say that again?" their Russian friend asked.

Wendy frowned. "Don't tell me you didn't look."

"I'm sorry but I was watching fight," Anna said, gesturing to a very large, almost three-dimensional vision that hovered over a prominent magma-spewing rock which happened to be showing the image of a very familiar town. "What were we supposed to be doing?"

"Finding a way out of…you know, never mind," Wendy said.

"What about you Wendy? Did you find anything out?" Bebe asked.

"The gist of it is no," Wendy answered. Glancing at the projection that was entertaining the residents of Hell, she soon found herself captivated by it. Wow. If only she could have been there. It looked awesome.

"So…no after hours with anyone?" Bebe asked.

"I plead the Fifth," Wendy said dully.

"You know, if I had known that they were showing a movie, I wouldn't have done what you asked me to do," Craig said dully. "Then I wouldn't have had to talk with a gay demon. This is why I don't like you guys. Most of you. If I was still alive and on Earth, I'd be soooo happy."

"Shut up Craig," both Wendy and Bebe said simultaneously.

"Ssh!" a nearby damned soul shushed at them. "I can't hear anything with all you babbling! It's getting to the good part! The Antichrist and some Mormon guy are about to fight it out!"

Blond Mormon guy? Glancing up at the projection, Wendy saw the Antichrist in the middle of leaping at Gary, the blond almost helpless to defend himself.

* * *

Time seemed to still as Gary watched Damien close in on him. He was not looking forward to being raked by those sharp nails, or any other kind of violence in general. However, there were times when you had to discard your Mormon upbringing and open up a can of whoop-ass.

Bringing the golf club he held in front of him, he used the sports item as a shield to block Damien's hands. As the Antichrist's weight descended upon him, Gary allowed himself to fall backwards and onto his back and kicked a leg up to propel Damien over and off of him.

With a quick roll, he was on his hands and feet, watching Damien warily as the Antichrist picked himself up. Seeing Damien's eyes glow, Gary willed for his Messiah powers to protect him from the flames that billowed at him from the earth itself. While he was protected from the flames, he was still scorched by the heat that washed over him. Fireballs rained down at him, the blond stumbling out of their way, scrambling not to get hit.

As one particular fireball fired at him, Gary instinctively swung the golf club he held and hit the attack right back at Damien who, surprised by the unexpected turn of events, was hit head on by it. Wincing, Gary muttered an apology as Damien emerged, singed by his own attack and cough up a ring of smoke.

"Oops," Gary said.

Growling, Damien's eyes glowed again and he held his hands out. Pieces of buildings and portions of the street tore out from their homes and rose up into the air. Gulping, Gary allowed the calming influence of his holy powers to take hold as he readied the golf club for the onslaught before him.

He was about to put the skills he had gained from coaching the school's baseball team for two years to the test.

A slab of asphalt was thrown at him first and to Gary's luck, his holy powers strengthened the golf club enough so that it didn't break when he swung it like a baseball bat. Angels cheered as the piece of street was batted away but some of their cheer was ended prematurely as the large, manmade rock crushed a few angels on whom it landed a top of.

Gary winced at that and muttered another apology.

Instead of throwing one object after another, Damien threw everything he was holding telekinetically at the Second Coming, determined to crush him or at least bury him under a pile of manmade stuff. Gary ran to safety as fast as he could, knowing that even a Christ-enhanced golf club would not protect him from this attack. Safety, in this case, involved jumping through a display window and ducking for cover in a Mom n' Pop shop which was torn to pieces as well when chunks of buildings and slabs of street followed after him.

It was miraculous that Gary emerged from the wreckage with barely a scratch but that was your standard Messiah power. Now if only there was a body of water he could walk on.

Suddenly, Damien was literally right in front of him, grabbing the Mormon by the front of his shirt and throwing him back at into the middle of the street. His body crashed against the pavement, jarring the golf club out of his hands where it went clattering away and out of his reach. Pushing himself up, Gary scrambled to get back onto his feet as Damien practically teleported over to him, attempting another throw.

Before the Antichrist could use that incredibly strength of his that belied his much thinner frame, Gary grabbed hold of the shorter man, using his holy powers to cancel out Damien's demonic ones. It wasn't as flashy as you'd think and was done in an instant. Somewhat anticlimactic, really.

However, there was something familiar in the way he was grappling with Damien.

"You're getting stronger," Damien commented as he struggled to pull away from Gary. Okay, now he knew this was familiar. It was quite comforting, really.

"You know what I was when I nine years old?" he asked out of the blue, causing Damien to pause for a second. "Utah State Wrestling Champion." Gary's arms slipped around Damien's torso, capturing the Antichrist in what looked like a hug while spinning him around so that the son of Satan's back was against his stomach.

Though this wasn't what you would call a professional wrestling technique, Gary was unable to resist. He threw his back into an arc, carrying Damien straight up and over him, performing a suplex. There was a loud thwack as Damien's head hit the pavement and once again, Gary felt the need to offer an apology.

The crowd of angels and demons all let out a big "_ooooh_," wincing in sympathy.

That apology would have to wait until after the big fight. First he needed to subdue Damien so that he didn't interfere with Kyra's directing the army. But naturally he didn't want to hurt his opponent any more than necessary. Fortunately, his years wrestling did get him a repertoire of techniques he could use.

Letting his back drop into the broken street, Gary rolled out from under Damien's limp legs. Reaching out and grabbing Damien by the front of his black turtleneck, Gary executed what was known as the guillotine. Hooking a leg under and around Damien's thigh, Gary looped his arms around Damien's neck and used the leverage he had to place the Antichrist in a spinal lock. The discomfort brought Damien out of his daze and boy did he begin to struggle.

"What are you…doing?" Damien coughed.

"What's necessary," Gary replied, increasing the tension in his arms.

* * *

Kenny kept landing punch after punch into Bain's face, trying with all his might to put the son of a bitch down. Flecks of blood were flinging everywhere each time he raised his arm back and more spew out with each successful blow he landed.

Then Bain slid his head out of the way as another punch was coming down and the Mysterion-dressed blond was cursing as he nailed the train's metal floor instead. A hand grabbed him by the head and slammed his very important limb into a seat. Next thing he knew he was being kicked off and sent down the aisle.

He barely got his wits back just as he saw Bain descending upon him, the man's inner monster unleashed and bared. It was all his luck that he managed to slip under the maniac, clambering on all fours to try and put some space between them. The last thing he expected was for Bain to tear one of the train's seats out of their bolted supports and throw it right at him.

Down on the floor he threw himself, the seat barely grazing his back as it flew over him. Looking up, he pushed himself back and onto his ass as Bain threw a punch at him, his fist going straight through the floor. Kenny kicked a foot into Bain's face and then another, Bain grabbing the ankle of his foot and swinging him about, throwing him bodily towards the front of the train.

As he made to go after him, Bain was jerked back on his arm, his fist stuck in the floor. This gave Kenny needed recuperating time to try and not groan at his sore body. He had never expected to see Bain like this, so much like a savage animal who was tearing everything around them apart just so he could tear _him_ apart. This needed to stop or Kenny didn't know how much longer he would last.

The only solution that came to him was that he needed to crash this train. Looking around quickly while noting that Bain had torn a hole in the floor to free himself, Kenny searched for anything that might help. Time was running out quickly but when he spotted the dented pole, an idea came to him. It wasn't the best but it was all he could think of. The only way to find out if it would work was if he tried out.

Well, here went nothing.

Despite how suicidal it appeared, Kenny ran at Bain, not allowing the sociopath the chance to take control of this fight. Nearing him, Kenny made the odd move of stepping onto one of the seats and then leap-frogged over Bain as the maniac tried and failed to grab at him. Continuing his run, he thought with all of his mind that when he grabbed this pole up ahead, it would snap out of his moorings without bending or snapping awkwardly.

There must have been something to this mind over matter stuff because as he tore the pole out from the train's roof and floor and it didn't look worse for wear. He repeated the same action on another pole before moving into the following train compartment and snagging one more pole. Though his arms were occupied, he still took the time to close the doors behind him and provide a few seconds respite from the rampaging Bain.

With the three poles at his disposal, he began wrapping and twisting them together as tightly as he could, again using that mind over matter trick to prevent them from breaking on him. He soon had one thickly-woven pole by the time Bain was through the doors and now was go time.

Like an Olympic spear chucker, he threw the twisted-together pole at Bain who slid to a side. The pole continued on its trajectory, straight through the front of the train and vanishing from sight.

"You missed," Bain growled.

In answer, "Not quite." Kenny threw himself in-between two seats and braced himself while Bain returned his attention towards the front of the train.

Further down the tracks, the pole was innocently wedged against one of the rails. Sparks from inside the train would direct one's attention towards the train's controls were a broken knife blade could be seen stabbed right into them.

Kenny didn't have to look at Bain to know that the sociopath had figured out what he was up but by now, it was too late to do anything about it. All Kenny could do, though, was make himself as small as possible and wait for the upcoming crash.

As the train raced up to the Kenny-crafted pole, the thick object proved to be enough of an obstacle that the train was lifted off of one of its rails. Sparks gushed out from under the large, metal vehicle as it continued rushing ahead. However, there was a turn coming up and in its partial derailed state, it would not be making that turn.

Kenny's plan came to fruition as the train ran off its path and careened into the city, crashing into a building and plunging towards the streets below. Train car after train car followed after the lead car, shooting off the tracks one after another until the last one flew up and over the rest of the train, broadsiding the hapless building receiving all this punishment. Gravity took hold of it as it pitched downward and crashed on top of the preceding train cars with a loud, metallic screech.

As silence began to take hold, off to the distance where only a murky darkness could be seen, a bright, shifting, white wall of what seemed to be energy began to form. If one were to follow its length, it would be discovered that this whiteness circled the entire city and was slowly consuming everything in its path.

_Files Deleted: 40%_.

* * *

Trees were good. It meant places to hide, cover from an opponent's eyesight, and potential shields from any attack mounted at you. Charlie felt most at home in such an environment because it had always given her some kind of edge.

It was this edge she would need as she was facing off with an archangel and not just any archangel. It was Michael, the second oldest angel and the one who personally kicked Satan out of Heaven eons ago. She would not be underestimating him any time soon.

"Where are you hiding? Come out so I can slay you! Come on! You know you want me to slay you!"

Even though it would be _so_ easy to underestimate him.

She tightened her grip on the ridiculous shotgun that Satan had forced on her but she had to admit, so far it hadn't held her back yet. It was double-barrel so she still had one more shot with it before she had to…recharge it. She was not looking forward to that. Putting that thought out of her mind, she watched Michael stumble about, his wings hindering him as he tore through underbrush and bushes.

She was only going to get one cheap shot out of this so she had to make it count. Unfortunately, Michael was heading away from her so jumping out right in front of him and shooting him point blank was looking more and more like a distant dream. Chasing after him would require her leaving her current hiding place and risk exposing herself.

Still, she had other options, like the knives she had on her person. Some of them were throwing knives but she would have to be careful with those. She didn't want to further restrict her long range capabilities but how else would she be able to lure him closer to her?

Slipping one of those throwing knives out of its sheathe, she aimed while keeping Michael in sight and once she was certain, she threw the blade at him.

She was right to not underestimate him. Amazing, right? Well, the knife she had thrown was not even halfway towards the archangel when Michael spun around and obliterated it with some kind of holy power she had not seen before.

"That was a bad move," Michael intoned. "I now know where you are, minion of Satan. Surrender now and I might be lenient in your punishment."

"Fat chance," she called out, unable to restrain herself from taunting him.

But that was a mistake. Her danger scenes, finely honed from years of Bain trying to strike her down, had her dropping to the ground as a fiery sword cleaved through the tree she was hiding behind. She was amazed that a sword could even do that. No more time for thoughts, though, she was rolling away from the falling trunk and dodging another slash from Michael's sword as the archangel came after her.

And now the shotgun was becoming a hindrance. She couldn't properly dodge without coming within a hair's breadth of being cut. That and she couldn't properly turn the damn thing in Michael's direction without coming close to having a fucking sword thrusting into her gut. She liked her guts where they were thank you very much.

"Stay still so I can hit you!" Michael growled, showing off some pretty impressive swordsmanship. It was as if this guy had practiced for a thousand years his technique…which he probably had.

"Again, fat chance!" she spat out, slipping another throwing knife out and throwing it at the archangel.

A simple slash of his fiery sword took care of the knife, Michael looking at her scornfully. "You should know that a minion of Hell stands no chance against an archangel. It's pretty much a foregone conclusion. You don't even have a nametag on! You stand no chance."

"Why would I need a nametag? Don't you know who I am? I know that Hell keeps an extensive record on every mortal on the planet," Charlie said. "It stands to reason that Heaven would have the same."

"Of course we do! We know stuff about you that's borderline illegal," Michael claimed.

Good, got him boasting. Better news, she now had the barrel of the shotgun aimed right at him and the archangel's guard was down to boot. A simple pull of the trigger was all that was needed.

Except Michael flapped his wings downwards and shot up into the air just as she fired the hellish shotgun, the blast tearing apart the base of a tree and causing it to fall. Yes, it did make a noise when it fell.

All she could think, though, was that this thing was powerful. Hadn't expected it could fell a tree, especially one with as thick a trunk as that one.

Meanwhile, Michael's flight was interrupted when his head collided with a particularly thick branch and he came tumbling back down to the earth again. Alright, he was vulnerable!

The shotgun was aimed at him again, the trigger was pulled, and nothing came out. Right, it had slipped her mind. Two shots and she needed to recharge this thing. How could she have forgotten? Knowing how lewd this was going to be but shoving off any dignity she may have left, she wrapped a hand around the gun barrel and…you get the idea. Up and down and up and down… Curse your blatant homoeroticism Satan!

"Are you jerking off that gun?" Michael asked incredulously from where he was picking himself back up.

Charlie glanced at the shotgun then back to Michael. "No?"

"Because that's what it looks like," Michael continued.

"How would you know what jerking off looks like if you don't have a penis?" Charlie wondered.

"That's….that's classified information!" Michael said defensively but the answer was obvious.

Porn.

"Don't tell me, Backdoor Sluts 9," Charlie snarked, rolling her eyes. When Michael didn't answer, she ceased in her recharging motions to stare at the archangel. "Oh my God, it was!"

"It was an accident! I didn't know what I was looking at until it was too late!" Michael excused himself frantically. "It's like looking at a train wreck in progress; horrible to watch but you can't look away."

"You have issues," Charlie said blandly. Not knowing if she had charged the shotgun up enough, she aimed it at Michael and pulled the trigger.

Apparently she had charged it sufficiently but this Michael had to be a god moder and _teleport_ out of the way at literally the last second. "That is bullshit!" she yelled.

"Says the bitch jerking off a shotgun!" Michael returned, rushing towards her from the side, sword at the ready.

She dodged the first slash and ducked under the second, almost tripping over a tree root but getting her footing back in time to evade the third slash. This time, the sword was embedded in a tree but didn't cut through it. Instinctively, Charlie brought the butt end of the shotgun up and slammed it into Michaels face, pulling back as the archangel freed his sword.

"I dink you broke my dose," Michael exclaimed nasally.

"I don't know, I think it's an improvement," Charlie retorted. Right, she had the shotgun aimed at Michael again and it would be point blank when she fired.

However, Michael was acting quickly and before she knew it, Michael's fiery sword slashed into the shot gun and cleaved off the gun barrel. How'd he do that? No time for that, she had to throw herself backwards to avoid the returning slash.

Looking at the damaged gun, Charlie knew that Satan was going to be pissed about this one. Tossing it aside, she pulled out two knives that weren't made for the purpose of throwing.

She reminded herself that she was better at close quarter fighting anyway.

* * *

It was a miracle that she was still alive. Brianna was left stranded in all this war and chaos and by none other than her future hubby who was not as head over heels for her as she wanted him to be. Obviously, Kyle had something to do with it. She knew it in her gut.

And where was Craig? He should be here to protect her or serve as a distraction while she ran for cover.

This day was getting worse and worse.

Already she had to leave three hiding places she had holed up in though if she were honest with herself, which she wasn't, they were pretty crappy hiding places to hide in, each one worse than the last. Right now she was using the corner of the community center for cover, unable to reach the front entrance due to the fact there were a bunch demons and angels fighting in front of it. They were so inconsiderate!

It didn't help that there was someone on the roof looking down at her and yelling for her to wave at the camera.

When she survived all this, she was really going to let Damien have it. She'd only forgive him after he promised to marry her and not a second before! There would have to be some divorce stuff with Craig but she would deal with that in due time.

She jumped as something crashed right next to her, clattering on the pavement. Was that…a camera?

"Sharon! Now how am I supposed to get good shots now!?" an annoying voice from above cried.

How indeed but it wasn't her problem now. She just needed to survive until this was all over. Right. She could do that. Right?

* * *

Christophe was feeling good about himself right about now. He was kicking angels' asses all over the place and nonverbally telling God where that cocksucker could stick it. The only thing that could make this better was to light up a cigarette and let the nicotine do the rest.

Then he noticed an absence in the number of angels trying to kill him. What, was he not good enough for them or something? Or was God being a dick and refusing to give him satisfaction?

No, as it turned out, there was a legitimate reason why the angels weren't attacking them. They were too busy watching the Second Coming of Christ dominating the Antichrist in a somewhat creative way. Even Christophe, as battle-experienced as he was, had to pause and marvel at it.

Damien was on his stomach but Gary was placed on the Antichrist's ass and held each of Damien's legs under an arm each. And he was pulling back on them. Looked like one of those cheap wrestling moves Christophe occasionally saw on television…not that he watched that bullshit Americans called wrestling. However, there must have been some kind of legitimate pain as Damien was pounding a fist on the ground and throwing his head about like he was in the throes of agony.

"Say uncle!" Gary called out cheerfully.

"Never!" Damien practically shrieked.

This was Goddamn childish.

"What are you doing?" he yelled out to Damien. "Why aren't you kicking 'is ass?"

"I would if I could!" Damien yelled right back.

"Use your powers," Christophe helpfully pointed out.

"He's using his Mormon-ness to cancel it out!" Damien cried.

Well that was interesting. So the niceness of the Mormons had been weaponized at long last. He had figured it was only a matter of time but to actually see it was…an experience. He'd give it that much.

"Come on Damien, we don't have to do this," Gary claimed soothingly. "Let's call it a draw and say the war's over? I'll buy you dinner."

Ah, the infamous dinner invitation. A master technique of all Mormons. How would Damien respond to it?

"Never, you overly-polite stereotype!"

Not the best comeback Christophe could have thought of but it would do.

"Come on. What is war good for?" Gary said, increasing the pressure on Damien's legs.

"Fuck that song!" Damien cried out.

Christophe placed the head of his shovel on the ground, hands cupping the handle on the other end, and rested his chin on top of his hands. Really, he couldn't look away from the ridiculousness of this. How did Damien leave himself open long enough to get into this position? More importantly, why couldn't he get out? Like the other demons and angels who were watching, neither side attacking one another, he continued to be mesmerized by the display.

"Is it really so hard to say enough's enough and call it a day?"

"Your God-raped mother will suck cocks in Hell before I give in!"

"That wasn't very nice."

"Gaaaahhhh!"

Mesmerizing indeed.

* * *

Stan pressed all his weight into the door, hoping that somehow he could prevent the angels on the other side from battering it down. He could feel each impact against the doors, feel the shocks of each hit tremble through his body, and that the more he tried to push back, the less able he was to succeed in his endeavor.

"What are we going to do?" Brittany moaned.

"Stop your bitching and come up with something!" Cartman snapped at her though he made no effort to take his own advice. "Oww, my ass. It's still so tender!"

Eyeing the white, fluffy appearance of the "floor" they were standing on, Stan wished that Cartman's weight would be used against him and forcing him through it. The "room" that they were currently in couldn't really be called a room as there were no walls in sight and the floor literally looked they were standing on a cloud.

Hence the reason Stan wanted Cartman to fall through it.

Other than that, you couldn't really tell what this place was. It was so expansive as if it went on forever, eternal daylight making it look like they were standing in a friendly, cloudy sky. The only thing that seemed out of place was the fact that there was a set of doors just standing there and no sign that there was a wall it was connected to. You could walk around the thing and wouldn't be able to tell which way was the real exit.

Sure, they could probably try to get lost in this place but what if instead someone not Cartman took a wrong step and fell through this cloud of a floor? It could be Brittany, or worse, him!

"Hey, can I get some help over here?" he grunted, wincing as he felt the latest blow through the door. He had no idea how long this heavenly barrier would protect them.

"You look like you're doing a good enough job. I wouldn't want to get in your way," Cartman said with no sign of humility.

"I lack the proper musculature," Brittany shrugged.

Assholes.

"Well, somebody better think of what we're going to do. I don't know how long this door will hold," he snapped. "And no, I'm not going to do the thinking either. You two lazy asses will. I'm too busy trying to keep the door shut before being busted open."

"Lazy asshole," Cartman grumbled.

"Fuck you Cartman!"

"Fuck you Stan!"

"Why don't we try to hide somewhere in this…cloud?" Brittany suggested.

"Are you retarded? We don't know anything about this place! I could fall through it and to my death!" Cartman exclaimed.

"You have any better ideas?" Brittany retorted.

"Of course! I just…have to think of them first," Cartman excused himself.

A particularly loud bang startled Stan to jump back away from the door. "Okay fatass, you'd better start thinking and quickly. We don't have a lot of time."

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!" Cartman's face scowled, eyes focused on nothing as he thought. Stan and Brittany waited impatiently for his "better" idea, whatever it may be.

Once, twice, he opened his mouth to say something only to close it and continue thinking, making Stan even more impatient. If he didn't need Cartman's brain right now, he'd bash him on the head and demand that he thick harder.

Finally, "I got nothing."

Stan shouldn't have felt as surprised as he did because, really, he should have seen this one coming. How could you blame him, though? When they were younger, Cartman was the one known for thinking on his feet and coming up with some kind of plan that either saved them or backfired horribly.

Now that he thought about it, it had been stupid to ask Cartman to think their way out of this.

"We could still get lost," Brittany suggested.

That was looking better and better by the second. At least if they got lost in here, it would make it harder for those angels with the sharp, fiery swords to stab them into them.

"Alright, nothing for it. I'm going…out there." He couldn't find the best words for that last one. "Going in" would have sounded a lot better but they were already in this place so it wouldn't work in that context.

"Stan, I salute you. At least we'll know where not to go," Cartman said.

"Cartman, I swear to God," Stan swore.

"You called?"

Stan's eyes widened, his body freezing up. Oh God, they weren't in here alone! Slowly, almost robotically, he turned himself in the direction he heard the voice and gaped at what he saw.

* * *

Kenny climbed out of the train wreckage, much worse for wear but miraculously still alive somehow. He had been sure that this would have killed him but he was still breathing. Or at least he thought he was breathing. Kinda hard to tell when you were in some kind of virtual world.

He glanced around, searching for any sign of life in this place. Nothing yet. Didn't mean that there wasn't.

It was a struggle to get back on his feet, his body sore and feeling like hell. He thought there might be something broken but that would have to wait until after he got out of here. How was he going to get out of here? In all honestly, he didn't know what process was used to bring him here so getting out was the biggest problem he had now.

Did he need to find a ringing telephone or something?

A hand grabbed him by his blond mop of hair and he cried out as he was pulled back and slammed into the side of the wrecked train. Metal crumpled around him but before he could make himself at home, he was pulled out and slammed onto the pavement, a booted foot crushing down onto his chest.

Kenny coughed and gasped at the punishment being inflicted on him and he had to narrow his eyes up at his attacker…

You have to be kidding. Bain didn't look like he had been through the same carnage he had been through and he knew the psycho had been on the train with him when it crashed. Sure his hair was in disarray and that black trenchcoat of his was ripped and torn here and there but other than that, he looked just fine. That was freaking bullshit.

"I have to hand it to you, you outthought me," Bain said he grasped the nearly ruined vigilante by the throat and lifted him up. "You have some nerve using Winslow against me and for that, I'm going to make this slow and painful." A punch to the gut and a kick sent him flying into and through a building, his body stopping as it crashed into another one. "But you're not escaping this time. This time you won't run away because there's no place to run to."

Kenny cracked his eyes open, his eyelids having been shut from the previous assault. Bain was stepping through the hole his body had made and was stalking his way towards him. Damn it, why was Bain being such a Gary Stu?

Bain's hand grabbed his throat once more, squeezing tightly. The maniac's other hand was held up, fingers and thumb pressed tightly together and angled so that if he chose, Bain would stab the blond fingers first with his hand. "A shame you broke Winslow. I guess this'll have to do," Bain growled.

Kenny was not going to look away. No, if he were to die, he'd face it head on. Like he always did.

Things began to brighten up, unnaturally so. Pausing in their face off, the two combatants turned their head to face the same direction, both spotting what looked like a hypnotic white wall of ever shifting energy. Kenny had never seen anything like it before and whatever it was, it was moving, towards them if he had to guess.

A glance at Bain revealed the sociopath's eyes had noticeable tics. If anything, it made him seem more unstable than he already was. But then the tics stopped and Bain spoke calmly. "Someone's deleting it all. Even the high scores. Whoever ASS is will be pissed about it."

Kenny wouldn't dignify that last one with a response. However, he was a bit concerned about this deleting stuff.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he choked out.

"Instead of trying to get through the firewalls or hack in, someone on the outside is deleting all the data on the hardware," Bain was gracious enough to explain. "That means we don't have a lot of time…" Bain paused and looked up, Kenny getting the sense that something else was going on.

No sooner had the costumed vigilante looked up when he saw a strange, white-colored vortex up in the dark sky open up. Though it looked similar to what Kenny assumed was a wall of deletion, he had the feeling that this vortex was different.

"How sweet, they made an exit," Bain scoffed.

And that caught Kenny's attention like nothing else. An exit? A way out of this place? He had to get up there, no matter what, and he had a feeling that the only way to do that was to beat Bain to a pulp first. It didn't matter that his nemesis had come out of a train wreck virtually unscathed, most likely due to whatever properties Agent Smith was giving him, Kenny was going to do whatever it took.

Reinvigorated and now on his third wind, Kenny thought with all his might that his leg was made of steel. With all the effort he could muster, he kicked his leg straight up and right into Bain's groin. It was almost comical how Bain's face slackened, eyes bulging to the point that tears were leaking out of the corners, a high-pitched choke escaping Bain's lips.

Gritting his teeth, Kenny allowed his leg to lower only to kick it back up again and then one more time. A fourth kick was given to grow on.

By now, Bain was practically hunched over, Agent Smith's abilities meaningless to a kick in the nads. Kenny slapped both of his hands on either side of Bain's head and then brought his own head down in a vicious headbutt. He must be getting better at this Matrix stuff because he hadn't paused to think as hard as he could that his head was a boulder.

Bain hadn't gone far, though, but he was in no condition to retaliate. He was on his knees, his hands clutching at his crotch while hunched over. He was vulnerable for the first time in this fight and Kenny wasn't going to let this chance slip away.

Planting his feet into the building that he was pulling himself out of, he launched himself like a missile right at Bain, tackling him and propelling both of them into another building.

_Flies Deleted: 60%_.

* * *

Somehow, she didn't know how, but her duel with the number two of Heaven, God himself only superseding him, had moved out of the woods and into the thick of battle.

She didn't…okay, okay, she was rusty! What did you want her to say? She hadn't kept to her physical training regimen due to a nearly ten year rut of laziness and the fact that she didn't have certain sociopathic assholes keeping her on her toes. She let herself go, there no way around that.

But it seemed like she wasn't the only person to let themselves go around here. Despite being a fucking archangel and the one to boot Satan himself off of Cloud 9, Michael didn't look to be in that great of shape himself. After hearing him yell at her that she was going to lose because she was on the side of evil and he the side of good and that it was a foregone conclusion how this would all go because good always won for the fifteenth time…she had a good idea as to why the archangel was huffing and puffing.

He was just another person who had read into his own press and had allowed it to degrade his abilities. That was perhaps the reason why Charlie still had her head though it wasn't because of Michael's lack of trying. There were six close calls and while Charlie knew she was good at close-quarter combat, Michael was better and it still showed in how he was chasing her instead of the other way around.

Which led to them entering the heat of battle as angels clashed with demons and demons retaliated with savage brutality.

She slipped around angels, Michael still giving chase and rudely shoving anyone who was in his way out of his way. "Get your demonic ass back over here! I'm not done kicking it!"

Fuck you, asshole. Fuck you.

She shoved an angel towards Michael in an attempt to slow him down but it seemed like that wasn't the best idea that she had come up with. An angel who had seen her commit the deed and noticed how the archangel was chasing her put two and two together and attempted to slow her down. Angelic hands nab at her and Charlie reflexively snatched the nearest hand, impaling one of her knives into the angel's wrist.

Again, not the smartest move to do as various angels directed their attention straight at her, noticed their wounded comrade and the fact that she had blood on her, and you could imagine what they tried to do.

"Yes! Yes! Grab the evil one! Don't let her escape!" Michael crowed, shoving the angel that she had shoved at him out of his way.

Crap.

If there was a thing that she could say she was proud of, it was that she was a slippery character. It took a bit of effort to not just get her into a hold but also to keep her in said hold. It was more subconscious than anything but at this point, she would take it. She would not give this asshole the chance to gloat over her, thank you very much.

Now where were the demons? Safety had to be over there…so long as they recognized that she was on their side, of course. Why had she volunteered for this thing again? Oh, right, she was bored. This would teach her not to get bored again. Not.

She stabbed at anyone trying to grab her and continued to flow within the heavenly ranks as she sought to not get caught. Something from the corner of her eye caught her attention and when she glanced at it, her eyes widened as she duck the fiery sword that Michael was swinging her, slaying one of his own in the process.

"God damn it, will you hold still!" Michael exclaimed.

How had he caught up with her so quickly? No matter, she had to deal with him now. Again. Joy.

And then it went like this: Michael attacked, she dodged, Michael would kill one of his own, Michael would curse at her, and the process resumed. A thrust. Evasion maneuver. "I'll get you!" Vertical slice. Another dodge. "Babylonian whore!" Horizontal slash. Duck! "Fuck! Someone get his head!" Whoops, needed to stab this guy and move out of the way. "Double fuck!"

Hey, she was starting have fun here.

Next thing she knew, she was stumbling out of the ranks of angels and into a hoard of demons, one of whom was in the middle of an attack and she was in the way. Not trying to quote archasshole over there but double fuck. Fortunately, because she had lost her balance as she was emerging from the army of angels, she just had to stop regaining her balance and allow gravity to pull her out of the way.

She barely dodged a bullet there…claw…whatever, as an unlucky angel found his throat being torn out. Behind that dying angel was Michael who self-righteously slew the murdering demon.

Then, noticing where he was, Michael swore as demon upon demon descended upon him, trying to strike him down for a change. Charlie would have felt some schadenfreude at that but she was too busy avoiding all the demonic feet lest she be trampled to death.

Hey guys, Satan's favorite mortal is right here, you know?

Eventually, she was back up on her feet, surrounded by who knows how many demons and none of whom were paying her any mind. That was okay except she couldn't see where Michael was. Was it too much to hope he was pushed back by Hell's forces?

A fiery sword stabbed through the body of the demon right in front of her, the tip of the weapon stopping mere inches from her face. The demon's body was pulled away and lo and behold, there was a blood-soaked Michael.

Well, apparently it was too much to hope for.

"No more hiding," Michael stated. "You will pay for spilling the blood of my kinsmen and—whoa!" He was interrupted by the knife Charlie flung at him, barely dodging the blade in time. "Hey, I was talking here!"

"Oops, sounded more like you ranting instead of talking," Charlie shrugged.

Without even looking, Michael decapitated a demon that was trying to sneak up on him. "Does your kind know no low?"

Alright, no more running. It wasn't like she would be able to without Michael dogging her every step. "Put up or shut up. You sound like a broken record. Only difference is a broken record sounds better."

"As you wish, servant of Hell," Michael growled.

* * *

There were very few things that could make Stan speechless. Of those things, only a handful of those could make his speechless this long.

Finding a strange, rat-hippo thing with a blue face and brown fur-covered body had not been something he was expecting to find in Heaven of all places. There was this beautiful city, all of these angelic…angels, and then there was this thing. It barely went up to his knees!

Still, Stan had to admit that it looked familiar. Now where had he seen this thing before?

"Who are you?" Brittany asked in a small voice.

"I am the one you know as God, child," the rat-hippo thing said.

"But…but aren't we supposed to be created in your image?" Brittany asked.

"Evolution, what can I say?" this thing that claimed to be God shrugged. "Happens to the best of us."

"How can you be God? You…you look ridiculous!" Cartman exclaimed, pointing at the rat-hippo thing rudely.

"Says the nearly bankrupt plumber who dresses like a raccoon," God retorted though you couldn't tell if there was any malice in it. "Did that stomach infection clear up? How stupid do you have to be to think you were on your period?"

And Cartman was silent, jaw hanging open in horror.

Stan almost snapped his fingers as he finally recognized the creature. Damn, that had been so long ago! Wow, this was the second time he had ever been in the presence of God. _The_ God!

"So what brings you three here in my private chambers?" God asked, droopy eyes looking over them. "It's not often we have still living mortals in the Heavenly City."

"You're not aware of what's going on out there?" Stan asked dumbly.

"Should I?" God asked.

"There's a freaking war between Heaven and Hell happening on Earth, our friends were massacred by some black maniac, and there's all this stuff about the Book of Nemesis! How do you not know about that!" Stan cried out.

"Oh, I'm aware of everything, child. I just don't pay attention to everything," God said. "But it does sound like I've been kept out of the loop. Again. I'm going to have to have some words with Michael about this."

"This isn't the first time Michael's kept you out of the loop?" Brittany asked.

"He reads too much into his own press. With that in mind, I'll have to ask Lucifer what's going on as well. At least I know he won't lie to me," God said.

The three mortals shared a look between one another. "Why ask Satan about what's going on? Shouldn't you ask your…angels or something?" The confusion was palpable among the three.

"I would but they tend to brown nose me a lot. The only person who has always told me the truth, no matter what the situation has always been Lucifer. Just another of the reasons why he's my favorite," God explained.

"He's your favorite? As in still your favorite?" Brittany questioned. "But didn't he wage a war to take over Heaven and get rid of you?"

"He did that but just because I had him kicked out of Heaven doesn't mean he stopped being my favorite," God said. "Why would you think I'd give the Book of Nemesis to him? That is if Michael told you that much."

"He told us that." Stan nodded.

"So he told you that I gave Lucifer the Book of Nemesis because Lucifer would never use it due to his pride," God stated.

"That sounds about right," Stan confirmed.

"Funny. He usually doesn't give that many details," God murmured.

"Well he had to tell us because he wanted us to break into Hell and take the Book back," Brittany said.

"Figures," God said. "He never agreed with my decision. Of course, unlike Lucifer, Michael has no such qualms. The Book of Nemesis in the hands of Michael would only lead to disaster, as well as a decision that Michael himself could do a better job than me of governing the cosmos. You see why I gave it to the one person with whom Michael can't go against without an army?"

"You know, that's all very nice and good but that reminds of an army of angels that trying to bust in here and kill us!" Cartman cut in, gesturing wildly to the door. "They even shot me in my ass!"

God chuckled. "They did?"

"It's not funny!" Cartman roared.

"Well, it kinda is," Stan said.

"Fuck you Stan!" Cartman turned his anger on the other.

"You can fuck each other later. God, please help us!" Brittany interrupted, begging the supernatural entity.

"Sure. Why not?" God said. "But why are they trying to kill you in the first place?"

For all of his life, Stan had been raised to believe that God was this omnipotent figure who knew everything about everything. So you can imagine that all of that was not only being challenged but firmly thrashed now that he was in the presence of the Almighty. Aware of everything but doesn't pay attention to everything indeed.

"One of your angels is a double agent and we caught him in the act but then he accused us of being traitors and," Stan shrugged at this, not able to explain any further.

"Mmm. That doesn't sound very angelic," God said.

There was a loud crash that abruptly ended this little conversation as the doors that had been protecting the mortals were finally broken down and scores of angels charged in. "Seize them!" Ongkanon screamed. "Kill them if you have to!"

"Is that him?" God asked.

"Yep. That's the one," Stan confirmed.

Upon hearing the voice of their Lord, all the angels froze up in horror at the audacity of their actions. They had just broken and barged into God's private rooms! How could they be forgiven for such a trespass?

"What are you doing? Don't stop! Keep going you…oh." Ongkanon trailed off as he too realized where he was.

"What is the meaning of this?" God asked pleasantly though you couldn't quite tell. There was really no emotion you could take from His voice but at the time you could hear the love and patience within it.

"Ongkanon," Ongkanon said, as if reminding God of his easily forgotten name.

"I know who you are Ongkanon. I want to know what you are doing," God said.

"I…these…these mortals are traitors, my Lord," Ongkanon finally found the words he needed to say. "Get away from them. They must be here to kill You!"

"That's not what I've heard," God replied.

"They're…they're lying! They're trying to turn You against us!" Ongkanon protested. "They are deceitful creatures. You must believe me!"

"Really? Well then, Ongkanon, could you tell me what you are doing with the previous generation of iPhone in your pocket?" God asked.

Ongkanon froze like a deer in the headlights. "I-I don't know what You mean," he stammered.

"Because you should know as well as everyone else here how bad the reception is up here," God continued.

"They're lying!" Ongkanon sputtered. "I don't have a tenth generation iPhone! I don't!"

"But they never told me you have a tenth generation," God replied. "So what is going on? Who are you calling with your tenth generation iPhone? How are you getting reception up here? Because I'd like to know the answer to that last one."

"I…eh…they've brainwashed You! The mortals have brainwashed God! Quick! Strike them down! Hurry!" Ongkanon was practically foaming at the mouth as this point.

"Are you telling more lies? Because you know how much I don't like lying," God said. "In fact, it sounds pretty unangelic of you."

"Shut Your You-damned mouth!" Ongkanon snarled, pointing rudely at God. "I'm the most angelic angel here! I'm the smartest! I fucking do all the intelligence and communications services! I work harder than everybody else here and no one gets my fucking name right!"

"You're starting to sound like someone I know," God mused. "Lots of pride, thinking he's better than everyone, wow, you sound like Lucifer before I kicked him out. Next thing you say has to be 'I'm better than God.'"

"I'm better than God?" Ongkanon repeated. "Wow, I always knew I was great but—eh?"

One after the other, Ongkanon's wings detached and fell off his back, turning black and withering away. Ongkanon stared in horror at them and then suddenly disappeared from sight as he fell through the cloudy floor, screaming as he plummeted to the world below.

Nearing the place where the ex-angel had fallen, Stan, Brittany and Cartman looked through the hole that Ongkanon had fallen through, seeing only the mountains of their hometown below.

"Sucks to be him," Cartman said.

"That was a close one," God agreed from beside Cartman. "I didn't remember his name."

There was a quick glance directed at the rat-hippo thing but none of the mortals deigned to say anything about that lapse. Instead, Brittany asked, "What happened? Is he going to Hell?"

"No, he's going to Earth child where he will splatter on top of solid rock and serve as a meal for a pack of mountain lions. Then he'll go to Hell," God answered. "This is what happens to angels who profess to being, well, me. They forsake humility, become heavy with pride, and fall. I hope this serves as a lesson to the rest of you," He added to the other angels who were still horrified at what had happened to one of their own.

"But how will we know what he was up to?" Stan asked, the thought occurring to him.

"Well, you three are still here. I think it's time I be brought up to speed on what's going on," God said.

* * *

Files_ Deleted: 78%_

Space was running out as the virtual wall of deletion began consuming the very edges of this digital city, erasing buildings and streets. Time was running out but Kenny was in no mood to pay it any mind. Not right now.

Right now, he was doing his best to kick Bain Cynis' ass once and for all.

Fist to one side of Bain's face, then back of his fist to the other side, then front of his fist to the side again, and another back of his fist to the other side again. Grabbing the psycho by the lapels of his trenchcoat, he flung the shorter man through one of the building's thin walls. By now Bain was showing signs of being assaulted to within an inch of his life. Bruises and cuts were making themselves known.

The price of this was that Kenny was using so much energy and strength that he didn't know how long he would be able to last this way. Still, if he had to go down, he was going to take Bain down with him. He was through the hole, running his way towards Bain where he kicked a foot into the kneeling bastard's face, snapping Bain's head to a side. Bain crashed into some God awful looking furniture, his body breaking the shoddily home fixtures to pieces.

Breathing hard, Kenny crouched closer to the floor, watching Bain as a predator would prey, waiting for his next chance to strike. Bain pulled himself out of the cushioned and wooden wreckage, glaring at Kenny with hair askew. Kenny would not be intimidated by this wild look even as Bain launched himself at him. While Bain was in mid-attack, Kenny reciprocated the action and tackled Bain, the two combatants falling to the floor in a twisted pile.

Like two boys who were roughhousing, each struggled to try to get the upper hand over the other, rolling about and punching at one another. Kenny grunted and snarled as his side connected with the floor, ignoring the surface as he pulled back a fist and threw it into Bain's shoulder, pushing himself up on an elbow to try and get a better vantage point to throw another punch.

Bain took the punch but pushed forward, rolling on top of Kenny and his ruined outfit. He whacked the side of his fist against Kenny's chest before Kenny rolled them to a side, forcing Bain off him and kneeing the sociopath in the thigh. Bain was unfazed as he knocked the side of his lower arm against Kenny's face and tried to roll on top of him only for Kenny to move with him and make him overshoot his mark. He was now on the other side of Kenny though he managed to trap one of Kenny's legs between their bodies in the process.

Kenny endured a vicious jab to his face, then a second before tightening the grip he had on Bain and rolled onto his back, forcing Bain on top of him. However, he managed to get his other leg between the two of them and with all the strength he could muster in his legs, he pushed upwards and kicked Bain up into the ceiling.

Quickly rolling to a side, he evaded Bain as the other fell back to the floor, landing with an "oomph!" Pushing himself up onto his knees, Kenny twisted his waist as he held his arms up, folded, and dropped both of his elbows into Bain's back. Bain cried out in shock but then retaliated by throwing an elbow of his own back and into the side of Kenny's head, forcing Kenny away.

_Files Deleted: 82%_

Putting some distance between one another, both panting harshly, the two fighters faced each other in a stare off.

"Why won't you die?" Bain growled, eyeing the blond warily.

"Oh but I have," Kenny retorted. "I've died so many times before that I've lost count."

Bain frowned. "What delusion…?"

"I'm not afraid to die Bain," Kenny cut in. "But you…I bet you are. You like talking about killing, you like dealing death to others, but I don't think you know what it's like. I bet that scares the shit out of you, knowing that despite how much better you think you are to others, you'll be doing the same thing as them. Dying. And there'll be no difference between them and you."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Bain growled.

"Don't I?" Kenny retorted. "How's about some psychoanalysis on you for a change? You know what I see when I look at you? A little boy who didn't get mommy and daddy's attention. So now you take your frustration on everybody else like some pathetic loser would."

"Shut up," Bain glared at him. "You don't know anything."

"I don't have to. I grew up in a poor house where my mom and dad fought over everything and didn't provide shit to their kids. But I turned out fine. I didn't become some smartass know it all with a superiority complex. Meanwhile you had a roof over your head, three meals a day, even a fucking car, and you think the world owes you something. Really, who's more pathetic?"

Bain didn't even use words as he snarled at him, rushing at him to use some kind of martial arts maneuver but Kenny wouldn't have that. Snatching Bain by his attacking arm, he spun them around and slammed Bain right into a window. With Bain half hanging out of it, Kenny grabbed him by the collar of his trenchcoat and forced him up.

"You see that," he snapped into Bain's ear, his angry blue eyes focused on the white wall of deletion that was moving ever so steadily towards them. "That's how much you control anything. You have no control over anything at all and yet the end's coming right there and you can't do anything to stop it. You have the power of Agent fucking Smith but you can't use it to save yourself."

_Files Deleted: 86%_

Another animalistic snarl escaped Bain's throat as he threw Kenny off of him. Kenny allowed this but he was ready for anything that Bain would throw at him. The idea had popped in his head randomly and he had decided to give it a try.

As Bain stuck at him, Kenny thought that he was an antiviral software program.

It was quite effective.

Bain's blows which had been so powerful earlier barely affected him. Punch after punch Bain threw at him but each one was barely felt, only causing Kenny's body to shift from side to side but never taking a step back.

As what was supposed to be a vicious punch came at him, Kenny blocked it and threw an uppercut into Bain's chin, launching Bain straight up into and through the ceiling. The debris was just starting to fall downwards, Kenny leapt straight up through the hole, armed cocked back. Bain was still in midair when he reached him and it was there that he landed another blow that sent Bain upwards once more, his body crashing through two floors this time.

Kenny continued with his attack, chasing after Bain and knocking him through ceiling after ceiling, floor by floor until one final punch sent Bain through the remaining floors and up through the roof.

For a second, Bain seemed to float those dozens of feet in the air, the white vortex in the sky contrasting against his dark-clad form, until he jackknifed and landed on the skyscraper's roof with a smack. Kenny wasn't long after him, leaping through the hole and settling on the roof with his booted feet. His virtual muscles were straining from the exertion but at this point he was past the pain.

Bain was taking his sweet time recovering from the assault and for the first time in this fight, Kenny could see him bleeding from a gash on his forehead. An ugly cough splattered more of the crimson substance from his mouth and Kenny knew he had really laid one down on him.

_Files Deleted: 92%_

"I checked into you, after prom," he spoke solemnly. "After your house burned down and your sister killed your parents. I really dug into everything there was about you. I wanted to know what it was that made you what you are today. You know what I found out? That once you were this sweet kid. You were nice but real shy, a loner through and through. I think that if you had spoken up a bit more, you could have had some friends. I think, maybe, that _we_ could have been friends. I don't know what happened that made you decide to be so…sick. So…evil. And I don't know what it is that makes Charlie…Charlotte love you so much. She'd do anything for you, you of all people, and you throw it back in her face. Yet she can't let go of you. She's the only person in the world that would ever put up with your shit and I don't know how you deserve to have that kind of devotion from someone."

By now, Bain had rolled off of his back and sat up but had yet to get back on his feet. One leg was tucked under him while one foot was planted on the roof. He didn't answer but he continued to glare at Kenny as best as he could.

"Come on," Kenny said, knowing that there was no more getting through to Bain. He was long past the point of return, of redemption. "Let's finish this."

Bain forced himself to finally stand but he was wobbling, his balance practically shot. He tried to take up one of Agent Smith's many stances but it was a poor mockery of it. He was unsteady and it wouldn't take long now.

One foot after the other, Bain came at him. Kenny was calm and collected as he batted away whatever blows Bain tried to inflict on him. He was so much slower now and lacked much of the grace and skill that Agent Smith possessed. Kenny, meanwhile, was anticipating every move, blocking and parrying each attack.

When enough was enough, he finished blocking one last attack when he decked Bain with the speed of a striking snake. As Bain's head snapped back, Kenny grabbed the front of Bain's shirt and threw him upwards. With another leap, Kenny raced after him, his body spinning around with a leg stretched outwards.

In midair, he landed a roundhouse kick that he had always wanted to do in the middle of Bain's chest and sent him flying off and away from the skyscraper they were perched on. Bain didn't go far, merely across the expanse that existed between this building and the one that was just across the street from it. Part of that skyscraper's roof collapsed along with a section of the building's face as Bain's body was swallowed up into the concrete maw.

Landing on the roof, Kenny gazed at where he had seen Bain disappear, the wall of deletion reaching the rooftop he was perched on. Knowing that he wanted to do this at least once, Kenny took an end on what was left of his cape, holding his outwards behind him as he took a step forward.

Thinking that he was as light as a feather, Kenny glided over the abyss below him, flying for the first time. It was a short flight as he kicked his legs out in front of him to land into the large hole that Bain's landing had made, momentum propelling him to take a few steps further into the building.

_Files Deleted: 96%_

Concrete littered the area and ahead of him, Kenny could see Bain's prone body, a slab of the building resting on top of his legs. At the very least, Bain was propped up against another collapsed slab like it was a pillow. A rock solid pillow but a pillow nonetheless.

Bain turned his head towards him, eyes cracked open and a trail of blood streaking from the corner of his mouth to the underside of his chin. Kenny approached him, each step heavier than the last before coming to a stop in front of his fallen enemy.

"Now it's over," Kenny stated.

Spitting up a wad of blood, Bain allowed himself to recline against the slab behind him. "So…will you finally do what's necessary?" he spoke into the silence, heterochromatic eyes boring into him.

Kenny knew what he meant, he knew it instinctively. There would be no salvation for Bain. If he let him go, he would go on and kill and hurt more and more people. He had the chance right here and now to stop it all. Could…Kenny kill Bain?

_Files Deleted: 97%_

His fists clenched, his eyes closed, and he struggled with what he should do. What was the right thing to do? What _should_ he do?

He knew what to do. Even to the end, Bain was trying to fuck with his mind.

Behind him, deletion was eminent and the white wall drew closer to them, encircling them in an inescapable ring from which there was only one way out.

"I won't kill you," he said to the fallen sociopath. Bain blinked owlishly at him as Kenny…Mysterion stepped away from him, backing towards the edge of the building's interior. "But I don't have to save you," he finished as he took both ends of his cape and flapped them downwards, for once sending himself straight up into the air.

_Files Deleted: 98%_

He rocketed away from Bain's resting place, zooming up towards the vortex in the sky. As Bain had said earlier, it was an exit and it was the one that Mysterion was going to take to get out of this place.

It was going to be tight, though. He was tired, the wall of deletion was closing in faster and faster, and the exit was just…right…there…

Pushing himself beyond his limits, he stretched his neck as if trying to reach his head closer to his own salvation.

_Files Deleted: 99%_

Stuck in a trap of his own making, Bain stared at his incoming doom as it began to eat up the very building he was in. When it was mere feet away, the whiteness illuminating his pale skin, Bain uttered his last word.

"Shit."

_Files Deleted: 100%_

* * *

Kyra never took her eyes off the large screen, the Xbox 360 controller held tightly in her hands, as Uriel exclaimed that everything had been deleted. Whatever had taken control of the golden PSP was gone but Mysterion had yet to emerge.

She couldn't look away as one moment's distraction would not only break her concentration but it would also sabotage whatever stalemate she had managed to nurture for their side. Commanding the armies of Heaven though an ancient Xbox 360 was tough, you know.

"Michael's going to tear me a new one when he finds out our Keanu Reeves didn't make it," Uriel mourned. "All is lost…"

No sooner had the archangel said that when the golden PSP began clattering and jerking about on the seat it was resting on. When out from the screen a torn up Mysterion, or Kenny, take your pick, emerged as if he had been vomited up, that was enough to make Kyra look away from the television screen in surprise.

She was a gamer. It took a lot make her look away from a game. Even one with such life and death consequences like this one.

"What happened to you?" she yelped.

"Later," Kenny said in his Mysterion voice. "Pull back the army. Now."

"Pull it back? Why?" Uriel demanded. "Are you a chicken or something?"

Next thing either of them knew, Mysterion was grabbing Uriel by his golden hair and pulling himself to his eye level. "No you moronic nitwit! The battle is a trap!"

What? A trap?

"You mean Hell's…?" Uriel trailed off, eyes widening both from the pain of having his hair pulled and from the shock of Mysterion's info.

"Not Hell," Mysterion gritted out. "Someone else. Someone who's been playing us like the fucking idiots that we are."

"It wouldn't happen to be Wolf Black?"

"Yes Wolf Black," Mysterion growled before stopping and looking away from Uriel. That hadn't been the archangel who had spoken. In fact…

"Hey God," Kyra greeted, waving at Him. From the small group of angels and Stan, Brittany, and Cartman stood the sight of her gaming archnemesis who waved back at her.

"Hey Kyra. I hope you're ready for our rematch," God greeted her back. "But back to more important things, I've just learned about what's going on. Uriel? Anything you'd like to say to me?"

Uriel looked like he had pissed himself in fear. Actually, there was a growing stain on his robes. Ewwww…

"I'll deal with you later. And Michael. Kyra, if you would?" God turned to her.

"Of course," Kyra nodded.

"Is this what Gary needed you for?" Stan asked from beside God.

"This is how we direct all our armies," God answered for her. "It's all technical and I'm afraid your mortal mind would have trouble understanding it. What's important is that we pull back now."

"My Lord?" one of the angels spoke up. "What's that?" A finger pointed out to the battlefield where a green glow was starting to rise.

* * *

"Jesus Christ! What the hell!" Satan exclaimed as the golden Nintendo DS clattered up a storm from where it laid, sparks shooting out of it as its lid clapped open and shut. "Is that thing having an epileptic seizure or something?"

"I don't…know, my Lord," Demonius answered.

To their surprised, the DS then vomited up, of all people, Agent Smith. Or at least they thought it was Agent Smith. From beside the computer program, a knife clattered away and was ignored in favor of the other.

"Oh God, my head," Agent Smith moaned though he didn't sound like Agent Smith. In fact, he was taking off his shades and rubbing at his temples with his other hand. "What happened? I…I don't feel…"

And then Hugo Weaving passed out, sprawled along the outcropping of Hell without a care in the world.

"I'm totally lost here. Does anybody have a clue about what's happening here?" Satan asked after a moment, looking amongst his minions for an answer.

No one was able to give him an answer, though, as there was a shift in the air. It was something that you could feel, as if something had changed and that thing was heading right for them.

As one, Satan and his demonic minions returned their attention towards the battlefield just as a raging hoard of green-glowing souls poured out of the war torn town.

"This can't be good," Satan said.

* * *

Like long, sickly green fingers, the swarm of souls seemingly gushed from the ruins of South Park, threading into the ranks of angels and demons seamlessly.

Armed with spectral weapons of various makes, from knives and a few swords to what looked like guns of some sort and a lot of chainsaws, the souls attacked both angel and demon alike. Any retaliation against this new enemy was ineffective. Demon claws caused no injury and fiery swords had trouble finding their marks as the spirituals wisps always seemed to be one step ahead.

From her fight with Michael, Charlie found it abruptly cut short as she found herself trying to defend against what looked like ordinary people but were green and transparent. And lethal it seemed. She had no idea of what to make of this. Michael on the other hand was blown away by this as well and was demanding to know what was going on. There was something about interfering with the tradition fight of good versus evil but Charlie couldn't quite hear him over the wails of the souls.

Before she knew it, a soul had grabbed her followed by a second, immobilizing her. The sharp cold of death further imprisoned her, numbing her body to the point she couldn't move. Other than restraining her, for some reason the souls made no other move to harm her. If she looked closely, she'd see relief on the faces on these souls who looked relieved that they had found something that would…stop them from attacking? Was that it?

Michael was busy swinging his sword about, keeping the souls at bay. He had been smart enough to try not to attack the souls and had gotten a couple other angels to watch his back so that he could focus on what was in front of him. He looked pissed though, as if he had been robbed of something. Charlie could already guess what that was about.

At another part of the battlefield, buildings were collapsing upon themselves as souls raged out of them and into the battle. A wide expanse of destruction was clearing away all obstacles that would block the sight of anyone in the midst of this chaos. At the center of it all, Damien and Gary were startled out of their one-sided wrestling feud.

A soul had literally run over Gary and caused the Second Coming to scramble about, inadvertently putting some distance between him and the Antichrist. Damien was quite thankful for this turnabout if only because he didn't feel like his legs or arms were going to be pulled out of their sockets. Other than that, he was too stumped by this unexpected development to do anything.

Inexplicably, the turmoil that the souls brought with them stilled as both angels and demons pulled away from this foe, regarding them warily and wondering what was happening.

Then from the ranks of souls that now littered the place, a very large, purple creature stomped out into sight. Okay, those suspenders looked ridiculous. But from the way the souls were regarding this thing with fear, Damien had to assume that this was the guy who was responsible for this. In one hand was a book and in the other—Kyle! What was this beast doing with Kyle?

Looking down upon him and Gary, the creature smirked and exclaimed, "Heeerrreee's Wolfie!"

From where he stood, Michael dropped his fiery sword, pointed straight at Wolf and yelled, "Aborted Satanic fetus!" then jumped to a side for whatever cover he could find.

"Well now, look at what we have here," the mutated Wolf Black commented. "The Antichrist and the Second Coming of Christ. This must be my lucky day."

From behind Wolf and the captive Kyle, two individuals slid into view. One had a large proton pack on his back but he was also carrying some heat on him in the form of two somewhat large machine guns. The other…was Nathan. Now what was he doing here and with Wolf?

"Wha…who are you?" Gary asked, voice tinged with wonder.

"Your better," Wolf stated. "The new God and master of existence."

"So how we gonna do this? Killing spree?" the man with the heavy artillery, Jay, asked.

"Not yet. That'll come in due time," Wolf said as he began taking closer steps to Damien. Damien in turn pulled himself back onto his own feet, glaring heatedly at the person who had started all this. "Missed me Damien? I know I have. I've been dying to show off my new looks."

"You're still as ugly as before," Damien retorted. "You must look like what you did when my father—"

"Go on, say it," Wolf hissed, interrupting him. "It'll make this all the more enjoyable when I show you what real suffering is."

Movement from behind Damien directed Wolf's attention away from the Antichrist and towards the towering figure of Satan. The devil showed none of his more jovial side as both demons and souls parted for him. Apparently, whatever hold Wolf had on these souls wasn't strong enough for them to disrespect the ruler of Hell. Either that or Wolf was willing them to respect this evil being.

"Okay, I don't know who the hell you are but you're interrupting something important," Satan told Wolf. "We're having a battle for all existence here. Could you wait until later to start whatever you're doing?"

Wolf looked irritated at Satan's cavalier dismissal of him. He didn't say anything, though, because there was someone else making an appearance as well. Even from where he stood, Damien could feel the power and holiness approaching and up there above all the armies was the weirdest thing in creation.

God for those who didn't understand.

"So you are Wolf Black. You've been very busy recently," God said. "Not a bad plan pitting both Heaven and Hell against each other in a manufactured war. I don't think anyone on Heaven's side would have found that out had we not discovered your double agent within our ranks. Don't you think you're playing your hand a bit early?"

"Not at all," Wolf proclaimed. "I don't need what's his face anymore. I have something that turns everything to my favor. You may be the Almighty and he the Morning Star but now you're old news and a new order begins."

"Okay, you might want to tone it down. Whenever people speak like that, it never turns out good for them," Satan warned.

"For you maybe but not for me," Wolf sneered. "I have the one thing that can give even the weakest mortal the most powerful force in the universe. I have the Book of Nemesis!" He raised the book he held in his right hand up into the air for all to see.

You could also see the horror written on both God and Satan's faces. "Oh snap. How'd you get your hands on that!" Satan exclaimed. The devil's eyes soon found Nathan and it clicked. "Oh, I see. The traitor. Now it makes sense."

"Hey. If you'd treated with more respect…" Nathan growled.

"You can square it later," Wolf reproached him. "This is my moment. Don't spoil it for me."

"Wolf. You have little idea of the powers you are meddling with," God said. "I may not know everything that's happened to you but this is not the way. That Book will destroy everything if you're not careful with it."

"But I've already made changes to it and we'll all still here," Wolf smirked wickedly.

"You didn't." For some reason, God didn't seem all powerful anymore. Damien could feel there was something in the air, a change, a force, call it what you will. But the rules of existence as they knew it had changed.

"I did," Wolf confirmed. "Now, if you'll excuse me. It's time to be fulfilling the role I've written for myself. Here, catch." Without a second thought, he tossed Kyle away and onto Gary, the Second Coming grunting as he caught Kyle, the two sprawling on the ground. "It's time for pleasure, Damien, and guess what I wrote into the Book? You and me, one-on-one, and no one interferes. And spoiler alert, I win."

Despite all his power, all his might, and everything else that came with being the Antichrist, none of it was worth diddly squat when Wolf pounded him straight into the ground with a massive, purple-scaled fist. Already, Damien was coughing up what felt like his lung and soon more than that when Wolf's large foot slammed onto his back.

"I've been waiting for this all my life," Wolf growled as he grounded his bestial foot into Damien.

There was a dead silence all about then, only interrupted by the white noise of fire and the grunts and cries of pain forced out of Damien. None moved to aid him. None were capable of such an action as they were all held in thrall by the Book of Nemesis. They were all forced to watch as the mutated Wolf administered severe punishment to the Antichrist, mercilessly tearing into him with claw and fist.

Satan could only watch in grief as the aborted product of his loins stabbed ruthless claws into his only living son's back. He…he had done this. If…if only he had kept his legs closed and just said no!

God, in all His might and omnipotence, could do nothing but watch the proceedings, His furry face giving away nothing of what He felt or thought. The siren spell of Nemesis was too great, even for Him. Now He knew what Zeus and Orisis and all the others must have felt all those millennia ago, even as Wolf held Damien in the air by his neck and planted punch after punch into his gut.

Michael with all his bravado and ambition could take no pleasure in these events. He may not have liked Damien, despised the very air he breathed in fact, but the fact that an aborted Satanic fetus had not only taken away all his control but was now fixing to destroy all he had fought to preserve was too...there really weren't any mortal words to describe what he was feeling. The usurpation of what he had hoped was his triumph over evil had instead robbed him of everything. It was enough to bring an archangel to tears as he could hear something crack from the latest punch.

While Charlie was not Damien's biggest fan, with all the time she had been forced to spend with him she felt some camaraderie for him. She freaking babysat him for Christ's sake! Of course she would develop some kind of weird attachment. Just look who she fell in love with! Damien's strangled cry was too cruel to listen to but she was helpless to do anything about it. Not only did she have two souls holding on to her, but her indomitable will was currently on vacation.

Even from where they were, a certain group of mortals, at the forefront of whom was Mysterion, were observing the way too one-sided fight with the same interest one would watch a reality TV show. A particularly vicious blow to Damien's head had Cartman muttering, "Sucks to be him." Other than that, no movement from any one of them.

From his up close seat, Christophe could see the injuries mounting on the Antichrist in a way that he had never witnessed before. A wicked slice of claws tore through Damien's turtleneck, revealing ashen skin that was being stained with red blood. It was kinda fascinating. Who knew the Antichrist would bleed red blood? There were growing bruises everywhere—a loud snap followed by an ear-shattering shriek of agony caused the mercenary to flinch. Wolf had started stomping on Damien and that was definitely a leg breaking. He could see the bone spearing out even from here.

It was so much worse for Gary. All of this violence was happening mere feet from him and he found that he couldn't lift a finger to stop it. He was being held back…somehow. He couldn't explain it but something was holding him back from giving in to his true nature and intervening against this. From where he was, he could see the absolute glee in Wolf's beady eyes as he delivered kick after kick into his supernatural counterpart.

Macabre and sadistic. That's what this was as Wolf forced more and more injury on the helpless Antichrist. Yet no one did anything to stop it or could do anything. From the weakest to the strongest, all were equal under the salient power of the Book of Nemesis.

* * *

Almost everyone.

From where he lay on top of Gary, Kyle had watched this torture with thoughts that demanded to know why no one was doing anything. Anger that was sadly common in the young Hebrew's mind welled up, reaching heights that Cartman had never achieved.

Now, Kyle would admit that he had had thoughts that went along the line that Damien needed an asskicking. Something to get him off his high horse. Knock him down a few pegs. But he had never had anything like this in mind when he had those thoughts.

He was unbelievably pissed and idly, he thought that it was always up to him to fix this kind of shit. It always was.

Taking his eyes off of Wolf's smackdown of Damien, Kyle searched for something, anything, that he could use as some kind of weapon or defense against that giant aborted fetus. Anything would do, really, because Kyle doubted that he could make any kind of stand with his bare fists.

Then he spotted it. Something in the middle of all this fighting that was odd and had no explanation as to how it got there. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers and so far it was the only thing around that Kyle could get in his hands without causing too much of a commotion.

But really, what was a golf club doing in the middle of a battlefield?

Pulling himself away from Gary who didn't even appear to realize that the Jew was on the move, Kyle crawled on all fours and reached out between a demon's legs to grasp the shaft of the golf club. Slipping it between those legs, he got onto his feet just as Damien was sent rolling away from Wolf who didn't look like he was going to be stopping any time soon.

A quick glance at Jay and Nathan told him that neither were paying any attention to him, also enthralled with Wolf's show of vindictiveness. He had an opening and this was the best one he was going to get.

Staggering to his feet, Kyle nearly flew with all the speed he possessed, cutting in front of Wolf with only a golf club as a weapon. "Don't you fucking touch him," he snarled.

All in all, it was a ridiculous sight.

"No. Oh no." Wolf was incredulous as he looked down on Kyle. "You can't be serious."

Kyle tightened his grip on the golf club's handle but refused to be cowed.

"Can I shoot him?" Jay asked, aiming one of his intimidating machine guns at him.

"Don't," Wolf ordered. Eyes trained down on Kyle, he continued, "What is your malfunction, pagan? I'm a freaking god right now and you're going to insult me with a putter?"

Kyle glared with all the fury he had in him. It must have been something because even the unmovable Jay looked warily at him. Wolf, however, was not daunted.

"You know what? I'm going to give you this one," Wolf said as he held his arms out, the Book of Nemesis still clutched in a massive hand, and his legs spread apart. "Give it to me. Take your best fucking shot."

Well he couldn't have asked for a better opening.

"Kyle, don't do it!" Satan cried out. "Don't endanger yourself like this! He's gonna fucking murder you!"

Glad to know he had your support. Really, he could feel it.

A glance over his shoulder at Damien revealed the bruised and beaten Antichrist giving him a pleading look, telling him not to do this with a single red eye. The other was currently closed shut due to swelling. He had never seen Damien look so pathetic before.

All it did was steel his resolve.

Wolf sneered down at him. "Don't you know anything?" he taunted.

Tensing his body, Kyle gave it his all as he swung the club right at Wolf, the club's head smacking Wolf in the middle of his torso.

And instantly causing said torso to collapse into itself, a flood of purplish blood pouring out and splattering onto the ground.

"Ho shit!" Jay exclaimed.

Wolf's eyes were wide with shock, his large body starting to tremble as his strength began to leave him. From his hand, the Book of Nemesis slipped through his beefy fingers and fell to the ground, unnoticed. With a wet slurp, Kyle pulled the golf club out of Wolf's fatal wound, taking a step back from the aborted Satanic fetus.

Falling to his knees, Wolf began to shrink, his body reverting back to its normal, humanoid form. Blood leaked from a human mouth, and dark eyes stared up at Kyle helplessly from under black hair that looked like it hadn't been gelled in days. Kyle noted just had slim and small Wolf looked like, nothing like he had only seconds before. It was further emphasized by the now too large suspenders that was practically falling off him.

"But…how?" Wolf choked. "I'm practically a god. I wrote…that _I_ would win. How can a pagan…?"

You know what, Kyle hadn't meant to tell anyone about this but Wolf was just asking for it. "You should have proofread those changes before you came out here," he told him. "You would have seen the edits that _I_ made."

It was true. When he had been left alone in Black Market and had been released by Bonnie and Krisa, Kyle had been confronted with the temptation that was the Book of Nemesis. At the time, he had thought about how far he could have gotten away from the place, Book in hand, hiding away until he could get back to Hell. But he knew that the moment he left, Wolf would have moved Heaven and Earth to get that Book back. And Jay and Nathan looked like the types who would have found him. So in that moment, he gave into temptation, grabbed the closest writing instrument he could find and wrote into the Book's margin that someone would stop Wolf.

Apparently that someone was him.

Wolf's eyes widened further as he figured out what he had meant. Words were unable to leave his throat as more blood leaked out from his mouth. But Kyle was not done with him. Not yet.

Raising the golf club up once more, he declared, "You've just been aborted."

Wolf was practically bug-eyed, releasing only a pathetic choke. He was too weak to plug his ears with his fingers and was given no choice but to hear it.

With a mighty swing, Kyle swung the golf club again, all but obliterating Wolf's head as he decapitated him, blood spurting out of a headless neck before the body fell to a side.

There was another change in the air. The souls of all those Wolf had conned were moving now with a freedom they hadn't before. Wonder was in their spectral eyes as they came to a conclusion that they were all free now, free from Wolf's control. Then those eyes slid over to a certain proton pack wearing individual.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Jay snapped as the souls began turning on him. "Get away! I was just doing my job! No!" The souls lunged at him, unarming him of both machine guns and proton pack. "Get off of me! No! No!" Jay let out a strangled shriek as the souls tore him to pieces. Yeah, not going to look at that anymore.

All that was left was Nathan.

As if realizing that the tides had turned against him, Nathan took up one of those fancy martial arts poses, eyes snapping from side to side. "Don't mess with me! I know karate!"

"What? You think you're going to get away with what you've done?" Satan intoned, his voice possessing a dark and ominous tone that usually meant something bad was going to happen. Glancing at God, "May I?"

"Go ahead," God said.

"I just wanted a girl to love me! That's all I wanted!" Nathan exclaimed.

"That doesn't excuse the fact that you helped some aborted fetus try to take over the world," Satan said. Eyes looking upwards as if in thought, "But I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now."

Unexpectedly, a large, scaled hand burst from the earth, snatching Nathan bodily as flames spit out from around it. Screaming in terror, Nathan was dragged down into the hole the hand had made, his screams cut off as the hole sealed itself, not leaving a trace that it had ever existed.

Well that about settled it, didn't it? Wolf and his gang were out of the picture and all that was left was…

Looking down, Kyle spotted the Book in which all of this was caused for. Leaning down, he picked it up, somewhat marveling at how some as simple looking as this Book could do so much. And then he felt the eyes, as if everyone here was looking at him.

That might be a correct assumption but out of all those eyes, only a couple of them captivated him. Both God and Satan were regarding him solemnly and once again there was that charge in the air, not like that one that had been around when Wolf had made his debut but it was similar. Something big was going to happen but he was not in the least frightened of it.

If anything, he felt like he was in complete control of it.

"You're at a crossroad Kyle," God told him. "Right now, you are the most powerful being in the universe. So long as you hold the Book of Nemesis, you can do anything you want."

Distantly, he could hear cries that sounded oddly like Cartman but Kyle dismissed them. They weren't important right now.

"Give it to me!" Emerging from the crowd of angels and demons, an angel with quite the impressive wingspan pushed his way into sight. "That Book belongs to Heaven and it's God's property! Return it to me and I will ensure that you will be going to Heaven. Angel's honor!"

"Don't try to bribe him Michael," Satan scoffed. "It's his choice, isn't it?"

"You've corrupted him!" Michael accused. "You've lead this young Jew astray! He belongs with his own! He belongs with Heaven!"

"Hey, if there's any corrupting going on, it's Damien who's responsible," Satan retorted, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Then he proudly added, "Learned it from the best."

"As if! This is probably some…some master plan of yours!" Michael said heatedly.

"Don't point your finger at me! It's rude!" Satan huffed.

"Enough, both of you," God intervened. "He doesn't have to choose anyone. He could keep it for himself and remake existence. Or destroy it. It's his call."

That's what this was all about. The future. Taking his eyes off God, Satan, and Michael, he focused on the Book he held. He could feel…not power but potential. There's a lot of…potential in this thing. If he wanted, he could make the world a better place. Get rid of bigotry, end conflict, create an everlasting peace if he so wanted. He could do all that, make humanity give up its more baser and violence impulses and have it sit around a metaphorical campfire and sing Kumbaya. No more war, no more political deadlock, no more pain and suffering, no more Cartman.

He could make a difference in the world.

That would be too easy, wouldn't it? This peace he could create, it wouldn't be artificial. It would be as real as you and him. So much power, so much potential…

Could he live with himself?

No, because while it would be real to everyone else, he would know that it wasn't. Oh, it would have the appearance that it was real, no doubt. But Kyle would know why it was that way. He had already used the Book of Nemesis once, to stop Wolf and undo the changes he had made. This was too much power, potential, whatever for a mortal like him to have.

Looking back up to the representatives of Hell and Heaven, Kyle knew who could be trusted with this Book. There was only one. He took a step forward and another, making his way towards them. Michael looked hopeful, as if he was on the verge of winning…something. What that was, Kyle could not tell. Satan was uncharacteristically stoic, awaiting what he would do.

Kyle knew he was about to make quite a few enemies but this was the way it had to be.

He held the Book of Nemesis out, continuing to make his way closer to his choice.

"Yes….yes…" Michael was saying breathlessly to himself. His hands were in front of him, at the ready to accept Kyle's charge.

"Here you go," Kyle said as he held the Book out to Satan.

Satan blinked dumbly at him. "Are you…sure about this?"

"You've had this thing for how long?" Kyle asked rhetorically. "Not once have you ever used it. I think that you're the most trustworthy person to guard it."

"You can still change your mind. You'd be guaranteeing yourself a place in Heaven if you do," Satan said.

"I think that guy is the least trustworthy person in the universe," Kyle stated, referring to Michael. "He looks the way Wolf did when he got his hands on this. No, this is the right choice. The only choice. And if Jehovah could trust you with it, so can I."

Satan cracked a smile. "If that is your wish…" A large, red hand accepted the Book. "…then it shall be." And like that, the charge that had been in the air was gone, as if the status quo had been returned.

From the corner of his eye, Kyle glanced at the one and only God and had the impression that the deity was pleased with him.

"What…? Come on!" Michael protested.

"Not another word from you Michael," God said. "You and I need to have a little talk."

Michael looked like a strangled cat but said nothing.

"Want to call this a draw?" Satan asked, turning to God.

"Sure, why not?" God said. "I think this'll be enough war for a couple centuries. Don't you think?"

"Why should we do that?"

Kyle blinked. What? Someone was objecting? It sounded like it came from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he found Damien back on his own two feet, looking somewhat better than earlier. Oh, right, heighten healing abilities. How had he forgotten that? Still, that black eye he was sporting kept one of his eyes swelled shut so he was still in the midst of recovery.

"Damien, fun time's over. We're packing it up," Satan told his son.

"Why? We have the numbers. We were already winning. Why should we stop now?" Damien said, gesturing to the battlefield.

"Honey bumpkin, you're hurt. Maybe delirious from that beating. Come with me and we'll get you checked out," Satan said, holding a hand out to his son.

Kyle kinda stopped paying attention for a sec, his mind reminding him of something. Oh. Oh no. How had he forgotten _that_ as well?

"Damien, you might want to back down this time," Kyle warned him.

"Why's that?" Damien almost growled.

"Well…I added something else to the Book of Nemesis," Kyle admitted. "It was a…last resort thing in case Wolf wasn't stopped or anyone wanted to continue the war. Just…just trust me when I say drop it, alright?"

Damien raised an eyebrow at him, or at least tried to. It was hard to tell with all that swelling. "What makes you think that what you put down is enough to stop me?"

There was movement behind Damien and Kyle's anxiety levels were starting to peak. "Just trust me Damien. Alright? Just call it a day."

"I'd do what he says," Satan backed the Jew up. "Just trust him on this one." You could hear the fear in Satan's voice. Kyle noted that there was definitely some concern for Damien's wellbeing in there too.

"What could possibly be so bad that it could stop me—" Damien spoke, turning around just as he became a recipient of a Chuck Norris Roundhouse Kick™ to his face.

Annnnd…the Antichrist was down.

Above the unconscious body was none other than the owner of the CNRHK himself, lowering his leg back to the ground. Just like that, Chuck Norris saved the day.

* * *

Author's Note: What? Thought I forgotten the obligatory Chuck Norris cameo? As if. Also wanted to add that there's quite a few quotes in here. Kenny/Mysterion's last words to Bain come from _Batman Begins_ while one of Wolf's lines was from _Dogma_. Pretty much Kyle and the golf club, along with Wolf's death came from that movie. So, disclaimer here, I do not own _Batman Begins_ or _Dogma_. Something I also want to add is that I do think that the Wolf scene at the climax could have been longer. I had it in my head for so long what I was going to be doing there and it seemed like there was so much there. Then I write it down and it was so much shorter than I thought it would be. But Kyle yelling "You've just been aborted." you have no idea how long I've been waiting to write it. Enough with that, remember to vote for the poll, which is your favorite OCs. Until the next and last chapter.


	24. Epilogue

Author's Note: And finally the last chapter of this story line. The Book of Nemesis has come to an end. I would like to thank **ShadowMajin** and **CrownedSoldier** for review most if not all of the chapters. Now, as of this posting, the poll is over however there wasn't much participation this time around. The results, nothing much to say about them and I'm not going to be posting them in this chapter like I said I would. Turnout was too low to get a good sample size and by low, I mean three people. So, if anyone wants to know the results, you can PM me or leave a review asking for them.

It's been quite the journey, though. There is still a prequel I would like to write but at the moment I am not motivated enough to do it. However, there are some small stories that I've been thinking about doing so don't expect me to be gone for long. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

Epilogue

Bonnie sighed.

Everything was winding down to an end. Her soul was free at last but the fact remained that she was still dead. She would admit, she had hoped that God or Satan or whoever would be kind enough to give them all a second chance at life.

That was not to be the case. "Alright folks! In an orderly fashion, make your way to the piece of Hell right over there and we'll start the process of getting you processed and on your way to your afterlife. Which, if you were curious, will be in Hell."

"But I was a devout Christian!"

"I'm Buddhist! I don't even believe in Heaven and Hell!"

"I'm atheist. Still can't explain why I have a soul but I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be going to either Heaven or Hell, which haven't been proven to exist."

"Souls! Please! Allow me to explain. You all, while still living, sold your souls. That act alone is typically enough to get someone a one way ticket to Hell. Usually, people sell their souls to Satan but this is very unprecedented so we're trying to work out how we're doing this. But it's a foregone conclusion that most if not all of you were going to Hell anyway so please, make a single file line if you would…"

With Krisa grumbling beside her, Bonnie spared one last look at the boy whom she had grown up and gone to high school with. This was going to be the last time she would even see Kenny for a very long time and she wanted to make it count. Her intentions to come to this town for the purpose of meeting back up with him were irrelevant now and she felt nothing but sorrow for the missed opportunities.

She had always waited for that one person to come along and sweep her off her feet. It had never happened, though. And she was just starting to make a life of her own too when she had stepped onto that bus that had led her to where she was now.

She would accept her fate now. There was nothing for resisting. Maybe they could meet up again in a few decades and who knows? In the meantime, she should be readying herself for the afterlife to come. At least she had Krisa to keep her company. Oh and hey, there were those guys that Jay had murdered. Maybe she could find them down in Hell and have a small reunion all of their own!

Things, despite being grim, were starting to look up.

"Oh I can't wait to go to Hell! What do you think it'll be like? All fire and brimstone? Like Father Father Maxi used to preach? It has to be more interesting than that room we were all stuck in." And look who was right in front of her in line. She couldn't get away from Pip, could she?

"Will you shut up?" Krisa groaned.

"I'm sorry but I'm so excited!" Pip apologized. "This is the more exciting thing to happen to me since I died!"

That was so sad to hear and in more ways than one.

Listening to Pip chatter on and annoying everyone around him while Krisa continued to groan and tell Pip to shut up on multiple occasions, Bonnie took a last look around on Earth before descending to Hell where they were once in again in line, being directed to wait their turn for the next boat to arrive.

Who knew that you had a River Styx thing going on down here? Looks like the Greeks were right with that one.

"Why do we have to take a boat?" Krisa moaned. "Don't they know I get seasick?"

"Don't worry about it," Bonnie consoled as the line moved forward, taking them ever so closer to their transportation. "This isn't like those cruise ships and look! The water's lava. Or is it magma? Can't really tell which one it is."

"That makes me feel so much better," Krisa groaned. Odd, she didn't look better.

"You know what I think might make you feel better? We can go looking for those guys from the restaurant shooting after we get off," Bonnie said. "You're going to love them. I grew up with them in South Park."

"Please stop trying to cheer me up," Krisa retorted as the next boat pulled up. Looks like this was going to be their boat.

"What are _you_ lookin' at?"

Mother—

* * *

Everything was clearing up, Stan noted. Those souls that had been enslaved were almost gone now. The demons were heading back to Hell while God gathered his angels and brought them back up to Heaven. A few of the angels, Michael, Uriel, and Gabriel had tried to plea to Gary to save them but the Second Coming of Christ said that what they were asking of him was beyond his capabilities.

Messiahs were supposed to save human souls, not those of angels it appeared.

But Stan had little interest in that. No, he had something more important to do. His eyes slid over to the form of Kyra who was resting herself on an unbroken slab of brick and mortar. Looked like part of Main Street to him. Well, this was his chance. Maybe his last one. He needed to put things straight with Kyra. Once and for all.

Despite the whole Heaven versus Hell grudge match and an aborted Satanic fetus trying to take over the world while their friends are systematically murdered, this is what was truly important.

He straightened himself up as much as he could, tried to make himself a little bit more presentable, and took a deep breath before strolling over to what was certainly the most important issue remaining.

"You doing okay?" he asked as he sat down next to her.

"As good as anyone could be given the circumstances," Kyra answered, not looking at him.

"Crazy week?" Stan said.

"Craziest this year. I'll be so happy that when I'm finally out of here," Kyra admitted.

What was she saying? Was it something that he wanted to hear? "How's that?" he asked, daring to be brave.

"Well, I am in the process of moving out of town," Kyra said. "That Nintendo job is looking better and better by the minute. Thanks to all this, though, I have all these ideas to share with them."

Huh? Wait…she was still taking that job? But he thought…hold on. Keep it together Stanley. Don't try to make a mountain out of a molehill; that was what his father did best anyway. Be rational, talk about this, and don't jump to conclusions. This was going to be hard.

"So…" he trailed off, hoping she would pick up on what he was trying to hint on.

"So what?" Kyra asked, looking up at him for the first time.

"Well…" he scratched the back of head, trying to figure out how he was going to word this. "I was wondering… Um… What about us?" There. He said it. There was no other way to say it.

"What about us?" Kyra asked. Oh no. Oh come on. She had to have understood that. She couldn't be oblivious now of all times!

"You know," Stan said, shifting uncomfortably. "_Us_?"

"What about…oh. That." Okay, that didn't sound promising. Could she have said that anymore flatly?

"I was hoping, maybe, kinda, that we could, well, you know?" Why was he having a hard time about it now?

"I don't really know Stan," Kyra sighed. "We have different lives now. We're not in high school anymore. We're not kids living it up. We're adults. We're…we can't keep finding ourselves going right back to the same point. We have to keep moving forward because the rest of the world isn't going to wait for us. What happened at the restaurant., it's really made me think about it all."

"Yeah…" He understood where she was coming from but he hadn't thought about it as much as she had. He was always getting into stuff like this and he had somewhat become desensitized to death. It just happened and you had to keep moving. Maybe that's why he liked the fast paced world. There was no time to think about it.

But because there wasn't any time for it, he'd miss it. How much did he miss just because he was living in a fast paced world?

"I'm still going to go work for Nintendo, Stan," Kyra stated. "If anything, I'll be involved with something I enjoy. Video games. Sure it's not Microsoft or Sony but it doesn't matter. I can't…I can't keep waiting for something that'll never come or come when it's too late for me to do anything with my life."

This definitely wasn't sounding good. He could feel something inside him, something that was burning but he wasn't able to figure out what it was.

"But I will admit there's still this part of me that wants more than anything to be with you," Kyra said and suddenly the world was looking brighter. "Yet how can I trust you Stan? This is starting to become more like your relationship with Wendy when we were younger. I won't accept that."

"But there's still a chance for us, right?" Stan asked.

"I don't know," Kyra said, bowing her head. "I just don't know."

"One more chance," Stan said firmly. "I'll make it work this time. I swear it. One more fuck up and I'll admit defeat and let you go. But please Kyra. One more time. I just need one more chance."

"Stan…" Kyra finally looked up at him but her eyes were unreadable.

"I'll figure something out. We can still be happy with one another," Stan said. "There'll be no more Wendys or Wendy 2s or Lara Croft's boobs. I promise you. Just…please."

Her eyes were still unreadable yet they were penetrating. It was as if she was looking deep into his soul, searching for something. He hoped that whatever it was, it was there. After everything they had been through, he was reevaluating his priorities. Death had been _this_ close to him this time. Next time he wouldn't be so lucky, he was sure. He didn't want to live a life of regret and he knew he would regret it if he didn't patch up things with Kyra right here, right now.

Kyra took in a deep breath and he knew this was the moment. He was about to be told Kyra's answer and he awaited it, hoping for the best.

She gave him her answer.

* * *

It wouldn't be long now until any and all supernatural forces had left this plain of existence but for the moment, Kenny would hang out right here and let the world continue spinning.

Rebuilding their town would be a priority and once they got enough of the townsfolk together to do it, it shouldn't take too long until things were back to relative normalcy.

Like he mentioned, he was going to laze about first, still in his torn up Mysterion costume minus the mask and hood removed from his head of wild blond curls. Damn he was tired. A nice nap might go a long way here.

Sliding his eyes to his right, he observed a certain Second Coming of Christ also whiling away the time beside him. "You're not going with them?" he asked, returning his gaze to right in front of him.

"Why would you think I'd be going anywhere?" Gary asked in reply.

"Don't they need…?" he trailed off.

Gary understood his meaning. "I'm still mortal, Kenny. I haven't died yet. There's also that stuff about the Apocalypse, the real one, not the fake one that everyone else believed. I'm going to be sticking around for quite a while."

"Spend any time with your old man?" Kenny asked conversationally and with a little curiosity.

"Who do you mean? The man who raised me as his son or the Almighty Himself?" Gary again asked in reply.

"I was referring to God," Kenny clarified.

"Barely met Him," Gary shrugged. "Didn't really talk but that might have been because He was busy. I wouldn't be surprised if there's going to be a shakeup up there. He wasn't pleased to be left out of all this. It's funny. I had thought He knew about it but was letting us have a chance or something."

"Nah, once you get to know Michael a bit, you can see how it happened," Kenny said. "So what are you going to do now?"

"What I did before," Gary answered. "My job as a coach at South Park High. I assume though, before that happens, that I'll be involved in fixing the place back up. There is quite a bit of damage and unfortunately neither of the people responsible offered to help clean it up."

"Bastards," Kenny muttered.

"What about you?" Gary asked, turning to him. "What are your plans?"

Kenny smirked. "What I was doing before. Running a mechanic's garage. What did you think I was going to do?"

"Well, I thought you might want to have some words with Brittany," Gary said. Looking around, "I don't see her anywhere. Do you know where she is?"

"We spoke," Kenny shrugged. "She needed to get out of town. Understandable. But she left me her number. Now where did I put it?" He pulled off a glove and examined his hand, finding no traces of ink or a phone number. Rolling up his sleeve, he checked his arm but found nothing. "I'm sure I put it here somewhere," he muttered as he reached for his pants.

"What are you doing?" Gary asked, eyes wide.

"I gotta find her number. Now where did I write that damn thing?" Little air for Kenny Jr. down there but no number. Not yet anyway. He needed to keep checking.

"Put your pants back on. Nobody here wants to see it," a voice from his left reprimanded.

"Don't get your panties in a knot, Lottery Ticket," Kenny chided, looking up a finely dressed Charlie White. And she was nicely dressed in his opinion. Skintight leather that left nothing to the imagination. Rawr.

"I'm not interested. Stop before I gouge your eyes out," Charlie said, hunched over as she rested an elbow on her knee, her chin propped up on her hand. In her other hand, a very familiar knife was being fiddled with.

"Slow down there, Mrs. Cynis," Kenny joked. "So where's your hubby? He's not sore over me kicking his ass, is he?"

Charlie flinched at that. Odd reaction. Still, Bain had said that the virtual world they had been fighting in was being deleted and he had left him there. But that psycho was smart; he would have had another way out.

He wasn't stalking him right this moment, was he?

"That's right. I only saw him at that parlay. Where is Bain?" Gary asked, perking up cheerily. "I haven't spoken with him in a long time."

"It's going to have to be longer," Charlie sighed.

"Oh? He left?" Gary asked, deflating a bit. "Shucks."

Who even says that anymore, Kenny wondered. "I'm not too eager to see him again."

"You do know he's dead, right?" Charlie said.

What? But… How… That couldn't be right. No. He had just fought him and in a bad Matrix parody to boot. Wait, he did leave him to be deleted, hadn't he? That must have been it. He did feel some guilt but in the end, he would have made that choice all the same. And would Bain have stopped? No. No that guy was persistent if anything. Who knew how many times he had been killed by him?

"I'm really sorry to hear about that," Gary said and Kenny knew that the other blond meant it. "If you…don't mind, how did it happen?"

"That fucking fetus did it," Charlie hissed, gripping the knife handle tightly. "If that fucker was still alive…ooooh."

Kenny frowned. "When did that happen?" he asked.

"Before the battle," Charlie answered.

Now this wasn't making any sense. He had fought Bain just a few hours ago! He couldn't have been dead then! Not if this torn up outfit of his had anything to say about it.

"He possessed Agent Smith afterwards, somehow," Charlie explained to him without him needing ask about it. "Don't really know everything about it. He just did it without warning."

You know what? He wasn't going to delve into this any further. His mind was starting to hurt from all the implications and whatnot. Perhaps he shouldn't tell her that he had left him to be deleted. He didn't think he would survive her fury if he did. He had been doing so well too; he hadn't died throughout all of this!

He suddenly felt a little paranoia. He hadn't died yet which meant…it could still happen. Fuck…he had to think about this now!

"Maybe I could help?" Gary offered. "I think my Messiah powers would work on him. It's been a while but I think that I do have the ability to raise the dead."

"Probably wouldn't work," Charlie grumbled. "Found what was left of his body in City Hall. The battle went inside there at some point. Wrecked the place. Wrecked _him_."

Now he was starting to feel sorry for Charlie. It was obvious that she loved this guy, this insane maniac. He recalled what he had said to Bain back in that virtual world. Yeah, what had he done to deserve someone like ol' Lottery Ticket?

"Still…sorry," Gary said.

"I'm…just going to go over there for a while," Charlie sighed as she pushed herself onto her feet. "Don't feel like talking anymore." The crunch of gravel marked her leave and Kenny remained silent. Whew, almost bit the big one there. Again. But there was always another around the corner, just you wait.

"It's too bad that God decided not to bring everybody back, at least those who died," Gary said sadly.

"A price is usually involved," Kenny remarked. "Like, someone has to sacrifice themselves or something for something like that to happen. I know they won't let you do it because, well, you know. Whole Second Coming thing and everything."

"What's the point of having such power if I can't use it to help others?" Gary asked.

"You'll figure it out," Kenny said companionably, patting Gary on the shoulder. He paused, waiting for a sudden blow or something fatal to happen which didn't occur. Huh, usually happened around a time like this.

"What was this all for?" Gary asked, frowning. "Nothing's changed and there's all this…destruction and death. No one gained anything and no one lost anything. So what was it all for?"

Not a bad question actually. Kenny didn't have a real answer so he supposed some philosophical shit might cheer this Mormon up.

"I think—"

His head was suddenly in his chest cavity as a random chunk of meteorite fell from the sky and landed on top of his head. Blood splattered onto Gary and the mechanic's corpse fell to a side, death already taking hold.

Staring at the bloody mess, Gary said, "What the f—"

* * *

"—uck Kyle?! Are you trying to tell me something? What was that with the Chuck Norris thing? Why would you even do that?"

Damien had recovered nicely, Kyle noted. He had known from the moment it had happened that he was going to get shit for it. But look at it this way, if he hadn't put that one little addition into the Book of Nemesis, there would have been a lot more violence, warfare, and death. No, this had been the right choice. Otherwise, the unintended consequence would have been that Damien would have lengthened the war that Wolf had started and probably would have ended up destroying both Heaven and Hell. It would have been a mess of retaliation after retaliation until mutually assured destruction.

He didn't want any part of that, thank you very much.

He would admit though that it had been a bit odd that as soon as he was done, Chuck Norris had flashed a thumbs up, everything froze, the credits rolled, everything faded to black, and when it you could see again, Chuck Norris was nowhere to be found.

How did he do that?

"I thought I had explained this. Back up. Nothing more. If anything, I would have thought it would have been that Michael guy who would have got the kick to the face. I just wrote that Chuck Norris would appear to end things if someone refused to stop fighting. Didn't put anything down that said it would be you. It just happened that way," Kyle explained once again.

"Well you could have written that it wouldn't have been me," Damien huffed, crossing his arms and looking away snootily.

"Right, I'll remember that for next time," Kyle snarked. Christ, what a child.

However, Damien didn't seem able to ignore the Jew forever and after fidgeting some, he asked, "What was it like Kyle? What was it like to write in that Book?" Damien was facing him now though his arms were still crossed, red eyes peering at him with curiosity.

With a sigh, Kyle answered, "No different from writing in a journal."

"You can't be serious," Damien said skeptically.

"I didn't feel any power," Kyle shrugged. "I did feel like I was taking cookies out of the cookie jar without permission but other than that, I didn't feel anything."

"That's a letdown," Damien said.

"Are you still sore that your dad refused to let you use it?" Kyle asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Damien said, facing away from him again.

He was.

"I understand where your dad was coming from. In the wrong hands, that thing can do a lot of damage. I know, I saw it in the wrong hands," Kyle said. "It's too great for anyone to have, even Jehovah and from what I heard he abused the shit out of it back in the day. Look at what happened to you. You got the shit beaten out of you by some aborted Satanic fetus because of that thing. I mean, if you think about it, I could have also written down that you become a great mayor and actually do your job without complaining about it."

"You wouldn't." Damien whipped his head around to face him yet again, this time horror etched on it.

"It was tempting, I'll admit it but you can feel safe with the knowledge that I didn't. I only used it to undermine Wolf. That's it," Kyle said. "I still feel that, even with my intentions, it was a gross misuse of it."

"Aww, look who's being moral," Damien teased, uncrossing his arms so that he could sling one around the Jew's shoulders. "You know whenever you're like this, it makes me want to—"

"Stop the X-rated talk," Kyle interrupted. "I'm not doing anything of the sort until you start doing your job and rallying the town to rebuild itself. By the way, congratulations, you made it halfway through your first term before the town got destroyed. That has to be some kind of record."

"It can wait until tomorrow," Damien tried to coax.

"Where's that Mole guy? I think he has a shovel you can use to start fixing this place up." Yes, where had Christophe gone off to? It would be convenient of him to make himself scarce right about now.

"Relax…" Damien breathed throatily at him, the hand of the arm that was slung around his shoulders rubbing his upper arm. "It can wait. It won't be going anywhere."

"Is that my mother I hear calling? I think that's my mother," Kyle said, hoping to pry himself away from his amorous…significant other wouldn't be the right term to use right here but he didn't want to use any other term. Anyway, his attempts to put a little distance between the two of them failed.

"Your pitiful attempts to stave off the inevitable are precious," Damien said.

"Wait! I remember! You're getting Cerberus back for me, right?" How could Kyle have forgotten about something as important as his pet? Poor Cerberus…and Dip…and Marley.

"You're worried about the dog?" Damien asked incredulously.

"You promised you'd get him back for me," Kyle said pointedly. "I'm not letting your dad make an Indian giver out of you so cough up the pooch then you can continue with the groping and not a second before!" Wait, what had he just said?!

"Cerberus is fine. You are certainly fine. Everything's fine, so relaaaax," Damien tried to coax him again. Kyle shoved a hand underneath the Antichrist's chin and pushed him back, holding him at bay.

"No!" Kyle growled.

"You owe me for that Chuck Norris stunt!" Damien exclaimed, struggling against him. Kyle knew that if he wanted to, Damien could have overpowered him easily and it was a testament that he wasn't doing so right now.

"You should have listened to me and stood down!" Kyle yelled angrily back.

"_Kyle_…"

"Dog first!"

"Don't make this harder on yourself."

"Bite me!"

"If you insist…"

"What are you—_gaaaahhhh_!"

* * *

If there was one thing you could say about South Park, it cleaned up quickly. While third world nations that were attacked by America out of national defense would still look like a war had ended ten years after the fact, South Park looked as if nothing had ever happened to it by the end of the week.

Back to pristine, redneck mountain town standards without any insurgents messing it up. Again.

Conner was just glad that he could get back to business, tailoring business that is. When he wasn't working on what he now called the Melanie project, he was taking care of the more immediate ones. Some random starlet whose name he had trouble remembering was getting married, a big time celebrity wanted a new wardrobe, another fashion show out of town was due in three months. So yeah, it was busy, busy, busy for him.

Maybe it was a coping mechanism of his to work his ass off so as to forget everything that had happened. What are the odds of getting caught in a holy war of all things? Despite all the quality time he had with his neighbor and his housemate while holing up said housemate's house, it wasn't something he wanted to look back on fondly.

It was fucking terrifying to say the least. Never knowing if the fighting would invade their living room, crash the bedroom, or ruin the kitchen. It was the closest thing to hell that he had known. So he was going to work, work, work until he forgot or went into a coma, whichever came first.

It was a shame that his housemate was obliviously making that so hard.

In fact, by the sound of the door opening, Dilan was back from…wherever it was that he went nowadays. Was it sad that he knew so little about the comings and goings of the guy he was living with? If he wasn't so cute…

"There you are," Dilan greeted, sticking his head around a corner.

"You were looking for me?" Conner asked, looking up from his work.

"Yeah. I have a new customer for ya," Dilan said, coming fully into the smaller man's sight.

"That's new. But I'm way too busy right now for a new one," Conner sighed.

"I don't think this is someone you want to turn away. I mean, I've been advertising you to him and everything. You still do that making clothes stuff, right?"

"Yes, yes I am doing that making clothes stuff. But I'm way too busy," Conner replied.

"You okay?" Dilan asked and was that Conner's imagination or was his housemate worried about him? It sounded like it.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just need to get my mind off things."

"Oh. Well, if you change your mind, I have this." Dilan held out what looked like a business card. Taking it, Conner eyed it, taking in its black color and red letters.

"666-EVAL?" he said aloud.

"Yeah, he said that 666-EVIL was already taken and the next best one, 666-EVEL, was also taken," Dilan said.

"Is this the devil's number?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, you wouldn't believe what kind of fashion nut he is," Dilan said.

Now it was making sense. Dilan wanted to get in good with Satan. Right. What could he have possibly thought this was about? Then again, Dilan did have a point. This wasn't someone you turned away.

"If I have any free time, I think I might be able to fit him in," Conner sighed again.

"You'll do it then? Great!" The next thing he knew, Dilan was planting his lips on his cheek and Conner was sure that he was the color of a Christmas tree light. "Oh, he's going to be totally psyched about this."

And he was gone.

…

Where did he leave that mask of his again?

* * *

For the past seven days, Brianna had done very little that did not involve her trying to slip her way into Damien's good graces. So far she had nothing to show for it and it was driving her crazy.

It was all that Kyle's fault, she swore. Always interfering, always getting between true love, always flaunting what he had at her.

The only thing that was making this bearable was the insurance money that came from Craig's life insurance policy. Who had known that he had died? And at a shooting at a restaurant? She hadn't even been aware of it until after the insurance company contacted her about it.

As if she would pass up good fortune like that.

But even a fortune didn't last forever. She didn't have a job or a source of income. The money wasn't going to last and her biggest hope was that the mayor came to his senses and make her his bride. Every other job she had had in the past ten years didn't last long and she could never figure out why.

What was she good at, she had begun to wonder. Thanks to that fucking injury, her Olympic aspirations were dried up. Swimming had been all that she had done back when she was younger. She hadn't had a backup plan. Unless you counted Craig and if you did then she didn't have a backup plan for her backup plan. It was like hindsight was trying to tell her something.

Something that she wouldn't listen to, of course, since she could give a fuck about hindsight. Craig, she hoped you were burning in Hell for putting her into this position!

Christ, the only thing she knew how to do other than swimming was marrying saps who'd pay for whatever lifestyle they could afford for her. That was also being called into question because the mayor had yet to fall for her feminine wiles…yet.

Should she go and find someone to mooch off of until Damien came to his senses and dumped that aide of his? Or…or should she open some kind of modeling agency? Or go work for one? They made boat loads of money, right? Of course they did. She could become respected, have her own income, and show Damien that she could get along without him, causing him to realize those feelings he had for her and finally make that coveted commitment to her.

That…sounded like a lot of work. It'd be easier conning some sap to marry her.

What were the odds of that succeeding?

Still…

* * *

It had taken Cartman a total of two days to think of it. Well, technically nine but this was after the town was back to its pre-Heaven and Hell battle crappiness. He couldn't have believed that he hadn't thought of it sooner. This was his big chance, after all.

Now that Wolf was out of the way, there was a big opening in Black Market for a new owner. Cartman would be damned if that person was going to be someone other than him. All the money that was involved with it, it would take him out of this piece of shit town and maybe help him give the slip to Melanie who was annoying him about that wedding stuff.

He was not going to be tied down so early in his bachelorhood, especially when he hadn't been able to enjoy it. That's where Black Market was going to come in. He was going to be rich at long last.

He had experience with startup businesses before. He could haggle and boss around like the best of them. What Wolf started, he was going to profit off of. Before he was through, that aborted piece of ass chocolate would be _rolling_ in his nonexistent grave.

He needed to find one of those damn entrances first. Where the hell was one of them?

Of course it would have to in some back alley where the poor people spent their time and the occasional homeless frequented. He didn't bring his skateboard with him either. The thing was broken last he checked but still. Now where was the one he went to all the time? Why couldn't he remember where it was?

Hold up, that looked familiar. Let's take a closer look…and aha! Jackpot! Suspicious-looking metal door in a place it shouldn't be? Check. This had to be it.

Trying the door handle, he was pleased when it opened. It was as if no one had been here for some time. Perfect. He could already see it, his future full of riches and babes. All he had to do was reach for it and it would all be his. In this case, he had to open a door. How appropriate.

"Welcome to Black Market, how may I help you?"

Cartman's eyes widened in horror. What was this wetback doing here managing what was supposed to be _his_ new business empire? He looked all professional and uniformed and that fucking smile was creepy to boot! Wait, he couldn't be managing this place. He was from south of the border! Everyone down there was a manual laborer and couldn't find their way around an office break room if they tried! Probably hadn't ever seen one either!

"What the fuck is this?" Cartman said.

"I do not know to wheech you are referreeng to," the wetback said, tilting his head to a side. Oh no. He did not just do that. He did not just copy an American White Caucasian head gesture!

"You know what I'm talking about! Are you robbing this place or something?" Cartman demanded, getting into the wetback's face.

"No, no, I am zee new owner," the wetback said. "I saw that no one was operateeng dis fine establishment and thought it would be such a shame eef eet went away."

"That's what I was going to do!" Cartman exclaimed.

"I apologize but finders, keepers, _Senor_ customer. Now how may I help you?"

No. This couldn't be happening! There was no way this was happening! Nooooo!

"Please, do not yell. Eet hurts my ears," the wetback complained.

Oh, he yelled that last part out? "Who the hell are you? Why are you helping the rest of the world persecute me?" Cartman wailed.

"Apologies. I am Emile Estrada," the wetback introduced himself.

Estrada? Where had he heard that name before? "You're not related to the old principal, are you?" he asked suspiciously. He should already know the answer to this question. Of course this wetback was related to his long-dead principal. All Mexicans were somehow related to one another. Why else would they all have the same last names?

"You know of my _Padre_?" this Emile Estrada asked, perking up.

"Your what?" Cartman deadpanned.

"Excuse me, my father," Emile Estrada clarified. "I knew that he was a principal for a school in Colorado. I am hopeeng to find him; he left me and my _Madre_ before I was born and I have always wanted to meet him."

Christ, that fucking principal had already multiplied. How many bastard children had he left in his wake? Oh, wait, the principal was dead. Years ago. About the time of the great freezing incident. And only now was his asshole offspring showing up. He was standing there and looking so expectant.

This was becoming awkward pretty quickly and this was coming from someone who didn't care if he danced on other peoples' graves.

"Do you know him?" Emile Estaban asked, smiling widely at him.

Thus started another crazy misadventure in South Park.

* * *

Charlie was too busy glaring at a certain knife to do much of anything today. The inanimate object showed no sign of being cowed or even caring of the nonverbal venom she was spewing at it.

What could possibly have her in such a mood? And why would it concern Winslow? She wasn't exactly pissed off at the knife but more of what was inside of it. And what was inside of it hadn't made an appearance since she had last seen him slip into a golden Nintendo DS.

Let's rewind a bit and allow her to explain her foul mood, shall we?

Because of all that war stuff, Charlie had been forced to make multiple trips to Hell to help sort things out and provide some structure as demons returned to their day jobs of administering eternal punishment and damnation from being soldiers in a ridiculously large army. She had responsibilities as Beelzebub's replacement and she needed to take them seriously lest she lose that position.

Even if it had been in self-defense, taking part in your homicidal brother's death was frowned upon by most afterlife officials. She was lucky that Satan had taken a shine to her, somehow, and offered the job as a reward for fulfilling her responsibilities as Damien's babysitter for a required year. If only she had known that she would have to stay on for a few more additional years.

It was a good thing she hadn't thrown out that talisman after the one year deadline had come. Damien would have been more unbearable if she hadn't had it. Wait, why was she going through this stuff again? Wasn't she pissed…yeah, that's right.

Anyway, during her last stint in Hell, a demon had very openly sniffed her. It was to be expected since these guys were expected to bask and participate in sin. However, it was what this demon had said immediately after that started her latest rage.

"You've got a bun in the oven."

After threatening to kick the demon's ass if he didn't take it back, the matter was taken up with Satan who agreed that she did indeed have something cooking. Which couldn't be so because she hadn't even shown signs of being pregnant and had she known she was that way, she wouldn't have gone out and challenged Michael of all angels.

Then came how long this "pregnancy" had been going on. A week and a half. Or close enough to that amount of time.

As she was busy trying to wrap her mind around that as well as the fact that Hell had some of the most accurate pregnancy detection technology (to find poor saps for Satan to knock up whose stories would go on to be Hollywood hits), she recalled the last time she had had sex. It had been with Bain. On the night he had died. Before the battle.

And critical rage levels had been achieved.

That was why she was now glaring at Winslow. More specifically what was inside Winslow.

That bastard had the _GALL_ to put his bun in her oven and leave her with the repercussions like some kind of deadbeat. Like fuck she going to let him get away with it. She just had to figure out how to get him out and possessing someone so that she could properly bitch at him and tell him that under no uncertain terms he would be playing a role in their child's upbringing.

So how to get him out. Outside of herself, Agent Smith, and a succubus who had given her the knife after Damien got KO'd by Chuck Norris, no one else had held that blade. Correction, no one else had _touched_ the blade. So there had to be something there. Something in what little information she knew that would help her to draw Bain's soul out.

Why had Bain possessed only one of the three people who had touched Winslow? Why had he only possessed Agent Smith? Why hadn't he possessed her? In fact, why hadn't he possessed that succubus? She would think that he would have liked a demon's body to possess so why not the succubus?

With herself, she figured that it might have had to do with what little respect he had for her. Or it could have been because somewhere in that black, rotting heart of his, he cared for her. Or it was some rarely given courtesy sent her way. Damn it, she was no Sherlock Holmes here!

Think, Charlotte, think! Oh great, now he was starting to get her to call herself by her full name. Even in death, he still had so much power over her.

Okay, take this one step at a time. Even if not possessing her was because of some twisted courtesy, it didn't explain the succubus. Why didn't he possess her? It was a prime opportunity and being a demon couldn't be too bad, right? So why not that female demon? Why a guy like Agent—

She drew in a quick breath. Now it made sense.

That sexist bastard.

He only possessed guys! People with penises! People who took a piss while standing up! Now she understood! Bain wouldn't possess a female not only because of his intense bias towards the other sex but because he would find it as lowering his standards. Or something like that.

She's catching on to your game, asshole!

Right, so that meant she had to find a guy out there and get them to hold onto Winslow. That should do it. And once he was in control, she was going to give him an earful. And she would in no uncertain terms make sure he understood what he was going to be doing for the next eighteen years or so.

She knew what she would be doing. With the grand design back on track, she was needed to help pave the way for Damien to assume power on Earth. She was going to have to get a job with the government and work her way up to a high position so as to better aid the spawn of Satan. And with this latest development, she was going to need a babysitter for this kid and who better than the person who knocked her up?

Would show him to be more responsible with that prick of his. Now, what person should she seek out? She was aware that tricking men into being possessed by the spirit of Bain Cynis would also mean that their lives would be put on hold or ended. Also, she had no idea of what the possessed person would experience. Hugo Weaving had not been a fountain of information on that front and for some reason had difficulty remembering the last few days prior to the battle.

Still, she had her pick of the world at this point. Hmm, was Robert Downey Jr. available? Just kidding but it sure was tempting. The appearance of Sherlock Holmes and the mind of a sociopath was an alluring combination. But there would probably be no more Sherlock Holmes movies and she couldn't have that.

Nevertheless, the fact remained that she could choose just about anyone out there. She would be lying if she said she wasn't looking forward to it.

* * *

Author's Note: Lots of ambiguity for this ending but if you've read my stories before, you should have expected this was how it would end. Cliffhangers upon cliffhangers. And guess what, there is not going to be another sequel after this one. So do Stan and Kyra get together? Is Bain still going to have a part in Charlotte's life or has he been deleted? What will Season 17 of South Park, starting in September, be like? Like I said, there is a prequel I'm planning, got a bunch of ideas for it but it's about the motivation to do it. OC fics are all but extinct for this fandom, or at least the kind that I write. Enough about that, like I said I am planning some smaller stories, ones that are about five chapters or so but pure South Park every one of them. Hopefully, anyway. You'll join me, right? Until next time.


End file.
